“I see you aren’t losing any time,” said Edwin, who felt as though he were engaging in small-talk with a stranger.
“Are you?” Darius replied, without turning his head.
“I’ve just come up for a bit of breakfast. Everything’s all right,” he said. He would have liked to add: “I was in the shop before seven-thirty,” but he was too proud.
After a pause, he ventured, essaying the casual—
“I say, father, I shall want the keys of the desk, and all that.”
“Keys o’ th’ desk!” Darius muttered, leaning on the spade, as though demanding in stupefaction, “What on earth can you want the keys for?”
“Well—” Edwin stammered.
But the proposition was too obvious to be denied. Darius left the spade to stand up by itself, and stared.
“Got ’em in your pocket?” Edwin inquired.
Slowly Darius drew forth a heavy, glittering bunch of keys, one of the chief insignia of his dominion, and began to fumble at it.