brought this on himself. Edwin replied that he knew of no cause for it.
A deliberate lie! He knew that he had contracted a chill while writing
a letter to his father in an unwarmed attic, and had intensified the
chill by going forth to post the letter without his overcoat in a raw
evening mist. Obviously, however, he could not have stated the truth.
He was uncomfortable at the breakfast-table, but, after the first few
moments, less so than during the disturbed night he had feared to be.
His father had neither eaten him, nor jumped down his throat, nor
performed any of those unpleasant miraculous feats which fathers usually
do perform when infuriated by filial foolishness. The letter therefore
had not been utterly disastrous; sometimes a letter would ruin a
breakfast, for Mr Clayhanger, with no consideration for the success of
meals, always opened his post before bite or sup. He had had the
letter, and still he was ready to talk to his son in the ordinary grim
tone of a goose-morrow. Which was to the good. Edwin was now convinced
that he had done well to write the letter.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

TWO.

But as the day passed, Edwin began to ask himself: "Has he had the
letter?" There was no sign of the letter in his father's demeanour,
which, while not such as to make it credible that he ever had moods of
positive gay roguishness, was almost tolerable, considering his headache
and his nausea. Letters occasionally were lost in the post, or delayed.
Edwin thought it would be just his usual bad luck if that particular
letter, that letter of all letters, should be lost. And the strange
thing is that he could not prevent himself from hoping that it indeed
was lost. He would prefer it to be lost rather than delayed. He felt
that if the postman brought it by the afternoon delivery while he and
his father were in the shop together, he should drop down dead. The day
continued to pass, and did pass. And the shop was closed. "He'll speak
to me after supper," said Edwin. But Darius did not speak to him after
supper. Darius put on his hat and overcoat and went out, saying no word
except to advise the children to be getting to bed, all of them.

As soon as he was gone Edwin took a candle and returned to the shop. He
was convinced now that the letter had not been delivered, but he wished
to make conviction sure. He opened the desk. His letter was nearly the
first