"Shall I step across to the lodge and send the porter's boy to Round and Crook's?" asked Mr. Crabwitz.
"The porter's boy! no; go yourself; you are not busy. Why should I send the porter's boy on my business?" The fact probably was, that Mr. Furnival forgot his clerk's age and standing. Crabwitz had been ready to run anywhere when his employer had first known him, and Mr. Furnival did not perceive the change.
"Very well, sir; certainly I will go if you wish it;—on this occasion that is. But I hope, sir, you will excuse my saying—"
"Saying what?"
"That I am not exactly a messenger, sir. Of course I'll go now, as the other clerk is not in."
"Oh, you're too great a man to walk across to Bedford Row, are you? Give me my hat, and I'll go."
"Oh, no, Mr. Furnival, I did not mean that. I'll step over to Bedford Row, of course;—only I did think—"
"Think what?"
"That perhaps I was entitled to a little more respect, Mr. Furnival. It's for your sake as much as my own that I speak, sir; but if the gentlemen in the Lane see me sent about like a lad of twenty, sir, they'll think—"
"What will they think?"