“What are you doing here?” said Mr. Wilson, just then entering. “Can you find no work, that you must be lounging round the front door? Come in. I will find something for you to do.”
He spoke sharply, as if much displeased at Will’s idleness.
“Dunno that I’m much afeard of work,” said the latter. “Nobody round here says that. No use throwin’ hints as if I wasn’t ready to do what I take holt of.”
“I wish no impudence,” said Mr. Wilson, angrily. “People here are expected to attend to their duties, without answering back everything that is said to them.”
“The folks that brought me up,” retorted Will, “learnt me that what’s sass for the goose is sass for the gander. Don’t throw stones at a fellar if you don’t want them throwed back at you. What do you want me to do?”
“To save your impertinence for the street vagabonds who were your old companions,” said Mr. Wilson hotly. “Don’t try it on, here. I don’t want to point out your work. You can find it for yourself, or get out of this establishment, whichever you prefer.”
“When I get orders from head-quarters I’ll slide,” called Will after him, as he was walking away with dignity. “You can put that in your pipe and smoke it, Gus Wilson. I don’t keer the curl of a pig’s tail for a chap like you.”
Mr. Wilson turned back, as red as a beet in the face.
“I see, my lad,” he said, slowly and with bitter emphasis, “that store-keeping is not in your vein. Come to the office. I will have you paid off, and will give a character for your next situation.”
He was a different man, now, in his cool, studied bitterness, than he had been in the flush of anger.