“Certainly, sir,” said Mr Pouter, smiling at the recollection of his old friends the spring-doors, which had been quite a little fortune to him, and bade fair to remain so, seeing that they required his ministering hands about once a week. We already know how that they would occasionally bang too hard, but they would also bang too softly; when the application of a hand was necessary to make them close, and they might just as well have been common doors. So Mr Pouter smiled.
“What are you laughing at, sir?” exclaimed Mr Dodd, angrily. “I tell you what it is, sir,” he continued, rubbing his sore head, for he could not touch his sore temper, “I’ll tell you what it is, if you can—not attend to my orders without grinning like a gorilla, I’ll—I’ll—I’ll—employ some one else. Such impudence!”
This was an awful threat for Mr Pouter. It was like saying, “I’ll take fifty pounds away from you;” and therefore Mr Pouter, who hated losing a customer, and was much given to cuddling his jobs—that is to say, holding one very tightly till another came in—Mr Pouter looked exceedingly dove-like and mild, ceased smiling, and said appealingly—
“Plee, sir, I didn’t laugh.”
“Hold your tongue, sir,” exclaimed Mr Dodd, “I say you did laugh.”
“But plee, sir, I really didn’t, sir, and I didn’t mean nothin’ at all, sir,” expostulated Mr Pouter, in a most ill-used tone.
“You laughed at me very rudely, sir,” said Mr Dodd, with dignity, “and I now beg that the subject may be dropped. Have you brought your tools?”
“Yes, sir; yes, sir!” exclaimed Mr Pouter, glad enough to have the subject changed, and now looking as solemn and stiff in his features as if his skin were composed of his own shavings.
“Then turn up that carpet, remove the loose boards, and ease the door-spring—not too much, mind; but, there, let that girl pass with the tray.”
“That girl” was Mr Dodd’s housemaid, Mary, who gave her head a dignified toss; but her step was arrested by the sound of a heavy body falling, followed by an exclamation of pain.