The Matron gave Mr. Wriford this information as she conducted him to the Board-room door. "It'll be good-bye," she said, smiling at him kindly as she left him—he was different from the generality of her patients. "It'll be good-bye. You're passed out of the C. W."
CHAPTER IV
CLURK FOR MR. MASTER
I
Guardians sat at a long, green-covered table. Large plates of sandwiches and large cups of coffee were supporting them against the strain of their labours in sitting late, and they regarded Mr. Wriford with eyes that stared from above busily engaged mouths. A different class of men from the members of the Cottage Hospital Committee and, like the Matron, accustomed to a class of pauper different from Mr. Wriford.
His difference was advertised in his youth—a quality very much abhorred by the honest guardians as speaking to shocking idleness—and in the refinement of his voice and speech—a peculiarity that lent itself to banter and was used for such.
One addressed as Mr. Chairman first spoke him.
"Well, you've had a good fat thing out of us," said Mr. Chairman, himself presenting the appearance of having made a moderately fat thing out of his duties, and speaking with one half of a large sandwich in his hand and the other half in his mouth. "Best part of three months' board and lodging in slap-up style. Number One. Diet and luxuries ad lib. What are you going to do about it? Are you going to pay for it?"
This was obviously a very humourous remark to make to a pauper, and it received at once the gratifying tribute of large sandwichy grins and chuckles all round the table.
"I call upon Mr. Chairman," said one grin, "to tell this gentleman exactly what he has cost the parish in pounds, shillings and pence sterling."