George was drawn to his feet. He could have whooped for joy.
“I agree. I have misjudged you. In this matter I lay my trust in you. Take it, tend it, nurse it; cherish it so that it may not be returned to me cold and dead. Speed forth.”
“Have I a free hand?” George asked.
“Emphatically no. Every effort must be made to keep down expenses. Here are two shillings. Render account. As to salary—”
George burst out: “Oh, she'll come for anything.”
Mr. Marrapit started. “She? Whom?”
George threw a blanket to hide the hideous blunder. “Told of such a home as this is,” he explained, “a true lady would come for anything.”
The blunder sank, covered. “I earnestly pray that may be so,” Mr. Marrapit said. “I doubt. Rapacity and greed stalk the land. Mrs. Major had five-and-twenty pounds per annum. I will not go above that figure.”
George told him: “Rely upon me. But, by a free hand I meant a free hand as to engaging what I may think a suitable person.”
“Emphatically no. You are the lower court. Sift sheep from goats. Send sheep here to me. I am the tribunal. I will finally select.”