At the foot he stood for a moment, then moved towards his father's door.

Another hesitancy, though briefer, and he knocked for admission, which was at once granted.

Mr.Lord sat in his round-backed chair, smoking a pipe, on his knees an evening paper.
He looked at Horace from under his eyebrows, but with good humour.
'Coming to report progress ?' 'Yes, father,--and to talk over things in general.' The slim youth--he could hardly be deemed more than a lad tried to assume an easy position, with his elbow on the corner of the mantelpiece; but his feet shuffled, and his eyes strayed vacantly.

It cost him an effort to begin his customary account of how things were going with him at the shipping-office.

In truth, there was nothing particular to report; there never was anything particular; but Horace always endeavoured to show that he had made headway, and to-night he spoke with a very pronounced optimism.
'Very well, my boy,' said his father.