Mr. Crimsworth, having removed his mackintosh, sat down by the fire. I remained standing near the hearth; he said presently—
“Steighton, you may leave the room; I have some business to transact with this gentleman. Come back when you hear the bell.”
The individual at the desk rose and departed, closing the door as he went out. Mr. Crimsworth stirred the fire, then folded his arms, and sat a moment thinking, his lips compressed, his brow knit. I had nothing to do but to watch him—how well his features were cut! what a handsome man he was! Whence, then, came that air of contraction—that narrow and hard aspect on his forehead, in all his lineaments?
Turning to me he began abruptly:
“You are come down to ——shire to learn to be a tradesman?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Have you made up your mind on the point? Let me know that at once.”
“Yes.”
“Well, I am not bound to help you, but I have a place here vacant, if you are qualified for it. I will take you on trial. What can you do? Do you know anything besides that useless trash of college learning—Greek, Latin, and so forth?”
“I have studied mathematics.”