“You had better do faithfully whatever you are bid,” returned his patron, “if you have anything to do with me.”
“Yes, I know that, Sir,” pleaded the submissive Rob; “I’m sure of that, Sir. If you’ll only be so good as try me, Sir! And if ever you find me out, Sir, doing anything against your wishes, I give you leave to kill me.”
“You dog!” said Mr Carker, leaning back in his chair, and smiling at him serenely. “That’s nothing to what I’d do to you, if you tried to deceive me.”
“Yes, Sir,” replied the abject Grinder, “I’m sure you would be down upon me dreadful, Sir. I wouldn’t attempt for to go and do it, Sir, not if I was bribed with golden guineas.”
Thoroughly checked in his expectations of commendation, the crestfallen Grinder stood looking at his patron, and vainly endeavouring not to look at him, with the uneasiness which a cur will often manifest in a similar situation.
“So you have left your old service, and come here to ask me to take you into mine, eh?” said Mr Carker.
“Yes, if you please, Sir,” returned Rob, who, in doing so, had acted on his patron’s own instructions, but dared not justify himself by the least insinuation to that effect.
“Well!” said Mr Carker. “You know me, boy?”
“Please, Sir, yes, Sir,” returned Rob, tumbling with his hat, and still fixed by Mr Carker’s eye, and fruitlessly endeavouring to unfix himself.
Mr Carker nodded. “Take care, then!”