Something with iron resolve the father had kept hidden all these years in the lonely citadel of his heart. "If we take him, I don't mind giving you a share—say a fourth—provided you lend a helping hand. Cheveney strolled up, a pipe in his mouth. Wood, who had been absent on business during the greater part of the day, returned (perhaps not altogether undesignedly) at an earlier hour than was expected, to his dwelling in Wych Street, Drury Lane; and was about to enter his workshop, when, not hearing any sound of labour issue from within, he began to suspect that an apprentice, of whose habits of industry he entertained some doubt, was neglecting his employment. They did not have to wait long.
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