"What are your wages?" he said.
"Seventy-two pounds a year, sir."
Mr. Slumper put a hand to his brow and knitted this wearily, as if the effort of calculation was more than he could bear. Then he took out two five-pound notes and two one-pound notes.
"There's twelve pound," he said slowly. "One month's wages, and another's in lieu of notice."
Anthony stared at the money.
"I haven't been here a month yet, sir."
His master waved aside the objection.
"Only honest servant I've ever had," he said shortly. "Gentleman, aren't you? Never mind. Couldn't let you down. Others can go to hell, but not you. And now—better clear out. Right away. Get your box and go. Don't let the others see you. Give 'em the slip."
"But—but won't you be dining, sir?" said Anthony desperately. He was trying instinctively to grapple with a situation which had put him upon his back.
At the mention of dinner Mr. Slumper laughed hideously. The brandy was getting into its stride now, and colour was beginning to climb into his cheeks.