"Last week, sir. And as I say, I wouldn't care, sir, but just now it comes so hard that I'm askin'—just as a favour, Mr. Mather—to be paid weekly till the missis is well."
"So!" said Mather, recovering himself.
"I hope it's not too much to ask, sir?"
"No, no," and the manager turned to the safe.
What was he to find—an empty cash drawer? His hand trembled as he swung open the heavy door; he thought of little Beth. If Jim had been so weak, so ungrateful—it was all right! There lay the rolls of bills!
But not the same; the envelopes had been opened, the money mussed and then crammed hastily back into the drawer again. Moreover, these were not the fresh, crisp bills which Pease took pride in sending weekly to the mill. Mather took the whole drawer to the desk and paid the workman. "Make a note, Miss Jenks, that Swinton is to be paid weekly so long as his wife is ill." The man, thankful, departed; but Mather sat over the cash drawer, sorting the money and counting it. There were many bills of the high denominations which never came to the mill, since they would be of little use in paying the men. But it was all there, every cent. What was the meaning of it? And now it was Miss Jenks who stood at Mather's side, waiting to speak. He thrust the money again into the drawer.
"Miss Jenks?" As she did not speak at once he looked at her face, and asked hastily: "Is anything wrong?"
"I've—I've got to leave here, Mr. Mather."
He rose and put the cash drawer in its place; then he went back to her. "This is very astonishing. Why?"