"I thought you might want temporary assistance."
He was stared at a moment from the clouded eyes. Then, in another volume of the fierce breath, "Well, you thought wrong!" he was told. "Now!"
"Very well," said Mr. Wriford and turned away.
He went a dozen paces towards the road. There seized him as he turned and as he walked away a sudden realisation of his case, a sudden panic at his plight, a sudden desperation to cling on to what he believed offered here. He must find something to do. There could be no concealment, no peace for him while he wandered outcast and penniless. That way lay what most he feared. He would be found wandering or found collapsed, and questions would be asked him and explanations demanded of him. That terrified him. He could not face that. Whatever else happened he must be left alone. He must find something to do that would hide him—give him occupation enough to earn him food and shelter and leave him to himself to think.
He turned and went back desperately. The man he believed to be Mr. Pennyquick was standing staring after him and waited staring as he came on.
"Look here," said Mr. Wriford desperately. "Look here, Mr. Pennyquick. I know you think it strange my coming to you like this. But I heard, I heard in the town, that you wanted an assistant-master. If you don't—"
"I've told you," said Mr. Pennyquick, admitting the personality by not denying it, "I've told you I don't want you. Now!"
"If you don't," said Mr. Wriford, unheeding the rebuff, more desperate by reason of it, "if you don't, there's an end of it. But if you want temporary help—temporary, a day, or a week—I can do it for you."
"Do what?" demanded Mr. Penny quick.
"I can teach," said Mr. Wriford. There was sign of relenting in Mr. Pennyquick's question, and Mr. Wriford took it up eagerly. "I can teach," he repeated.