"Oh!" protested Edwin. "It isn't so bad as all that."
Ingpen said quietly:
"I should suggest you think it over--I mean the ventilation."
"But you don't mean to say that this shop here doesn't comply with your confounded rules?"
Ingpen answered:
"That may or may not be. But we're entitled to make recommendations in any case, and I should like you to think this over, if you don't mind. I haven't any thermometer with me, but I lay it's ninety degrees here, if not more." In Ingpen's urbane, reasonable tone there was just a hint of the potential might of the whole organised kingdom.
"All serene," said Edwin, rather ashamed of the temperature after all, and loyally responsive to Ingpen's evident sense of duty, which somehow surprised him; he had not chanced, before, to meet Ingpen at work; earthenware manufactories were inspected once a quarter, but other factories only once a year. The thought of the ameliorating influence that Ingpen must obviously be exerting all day and every day somewhat clashed with and overset his bitter scepticism concerning the real value of departmental administrative government,--a scepticism based less upon experience than upon the persuasive tirades of democratic apostles.
They walked slowly towards the stairs, and Ingpen scribbled in a notebook.
"You seem to take your job seriously," said Edwin, teasing.
"While I'm at it. Did you imagine that I'd dropped into a sinecure? Considering that I have to keep an eye on three hundred and fifty potbanks, over a thousand other factories, and over two thousand workshops of sorts, my boy...! And you should see some of 'em. And you should listen to the excuses."