“Tom Hartley—true as steel, Master. Two were needful for my plan. Mistress bade me commend him to you, as he that had done her right good service.”
“He shall fare the better for it. And you likewise.”
Roger smiled. “I did but my duty, Master.”
“How many folks do so much?” asked Mr Roberts, with a sigh. He could not have said that. After a moment’s thought he added—“Raise Hartley twopence by the week; and take you twenty pounds by the year instead of sixteen as now.”
“I thank you, Master,” said Roger warmly: “but it was not for that.”
“I know—I know!” answered the master, as he held out his hand to clasp that of his manager—a rare and high favour at that time. And then, suddenly, came one of those unexpected, overpowering heart-pourings, which have been said to be scarcely more under the control of the giver than of the recipient. “Hall, I could not have done this thing. How come you to have such strength and courage? Would I had them!”
“Master, I have neither, save as I fetch them from Him that hath. ‘I can do all things through Christ that strengtheneth me.’”
“He doth not strengthen me!” moaned the weak man.
“Have you asked Him, Master?” quietly replied the strong one.
Mr Roberts made no answer, and Roger knew that meant a negative. In his heart the master was conscious that he had not asked. He had said multitudinous “paters” and “aves,” had repeated “Hail Marys” by the score—all the while half thinking of something else; but never once in his inmost soul had he said to the Lord—“Saviour, I am weak; make me strong.” A few minutes’ silence, and Mr Roberts turned back to the accounts, half-ashamed that he had allowed that glimpse of his true self to be seen. And Roger Hall said no more, except to God.