‘I say,’ repeated Mr Fips, ‘that I don’t know it’s a matter of much consequence. The business lies entirely between yourself and me, Mr Pinch. With reference to your duties, I can set you going; and with reference to your salary, I can pay it. Weekly,’ said Mr Fips, putting down the wafer-stamp, and looking at John Westlock and Tom Pinch by turns, ‘weekly; in this office; at any time between the hours of four and five o’clock in the afternoon.’ As Mr Fips said this, he made up his face as if he were going to whistle. But he didn’t.
‘You are very good,’ said Tom, whose countenance was now suffused with pleasure; ‘and nothing can be more satisfactory or straightforward. My attendance will be required—’
‘From half-past nine to four o’clock or so, I should say,’ interrupted Mr Fips. ‘About that.’
‘I did not mean the hours of attendance,’ retorted Tom, ‘which are light and easy, I am sure; but the place.’
‘Oh, the place! The place is in the Temple.’
Tom was delighted.
‘Perhaps,’ said Mr Fips, ‘you would like to see the place?’
‘Oh, dear!’ cried Tom. ‘I shall only be too glad to consider myself engaged, if you will allow me; without any further reference to the place.’
‘You may consider yourself engaged, by all means,’ said Mr Fips; ‘you couldn’t meet me at the Temple Gate in Fleet Street, in an hour from this time, I suppose, could you?’
Certainly Tom could.