He steadily maintained silence, and the conflagration burnt itself out.
“Are you going to look after the printing shop, or aren’t you?” Darius growled at length.
Edwin rose and went. As he passed through the shop, Stifford, who had in him the raw material of fine manners, glanced down, but not too ostentatiously, at a drawer under the counter.
The printing office was more crowded than ever with men and matter. Some of the composing was now done on the ground-floor. The whole organism functioned, but under such difficulties as could not be allowed to continue, even by Darius Clayhanger. Darius had finally recognised that.
“Oh!” said Edwin, in a tone of confidential intimacy to Big James, “I see they’re getting on with the cleaning! Good. Father’s beginning to get impatient, you know. It’s the bigger cases that had better be done first.”
“Right it is, Mr Edwin!” said Big James. The giant was unchanged. No sign of grey in his hair; and his cheek was smooth, apparently his philosophy put him beyond the touch of time.
“I say, Mr Edwin,” he inquired in his majestic voice. “When are we going to rearrange all this?” He gazed around.
Edwin laughed. “Soon,” he said.
“Won’t be too soon,” said Big James.