Joseph laughed. It was in his laugh that he chiefly betrayed the shortcomings of character. His smile was dry and full of cunning, but his laugh was fatuous.
“Naturally,” pursued the earl, “I shall not pay you full wages for a half-day's work.” Joseph's face fell into a look of ludicrous consternation. “I shall be generous, however—I shall be generous. I shall give you sixpence. Sixpence a day, Joseph, and I shall do half the work myself.”
“It ar'n't to be done, gaffer,” said Joseph, resolutely stopping short, and setting up the ladder in the roadway.
The old nobleman turned to face him with pretended anger.
“You are impertinent, Joseph.”
“It caw't be done, my lord,” his assistant mumbled, thrusting his head through a space in the ladder.
“Times are hard, Joseph,” returned his lordship.
There had been a discernible touch of banter in his voice and manner when he had rebuked Joseph a second or two before, but he was very serious now indeed.
“Times are hard; expenses must be cut down. I can't afford more. Sixpence a day is three shillings a week, and three shillings a week is one hundred and fifty-six shillings a year—seven pounds sixteen. That is interest at three per cent, on a sum of two hundred and fifty-nine pounds ten shillings. That is a great amount to lie waste. While I pay you sixpence a day I am practically two hundred and fifty-nine pounds ten shillings poorer than I should be if I kept the sixpence a day to myself. I might just as well not have the money—it is of no use to me.”
“Gi'e it to me, then,” suggested Joseph, with a feeble gleam.