“Say next Wednesday, two hours after midnight.”
“Then that is settled. And now I'll square the old account agreed.” He drew his check-book toward him again.
But Henry slopped him. “Fair play's a jewel,” said he smiling. “The moment you sacked me—”
“Say the Trades, not me.”
“Dr. Amboyne hired me, at six guineas a week, to inspect the works. So you owe me nothing; but to be true to me.”
This trait, though it was one of simple probity, astonished and gratified Mr. Cheetham. He looked on the young man with marked respect. “You are hard; but you are very square. I'll be true as steel to you, and we'll outwit our tyrants together, till I get a chance to put my foot on them. Yes, I'll be open with you; there are plenty of orders from London and the Continent, and one for six sets from swells in Hillsborough.”
“Might I see that order?”
“Why not? There, run your eye over it. I want to go into the packing-room for a minute.”
He then tossed Henry the order, as if it was nothing more than an order.
But it was a great deal more than that to Henry. It was Grace Carden's handwriting, the first specimen he had ever seen.