“Make even.—Get out; don’t bother me.”
I shrank away, confused and perplexed, and a dark, curly-haired man on the other side turned upon me a pair of deeply set stern eyes, as he rattled some little square pieces of lead into something he held in his hand.
“What is it, boy?” he said in a deep, low voice.
“Can you direct me to the overseer’s office, sir?”
“That’s it, boy, where that gentleman in spectacles is talking.”
“Wigging old Morgan,” said another man, laughing.
“Ah!” said the first speaker, “that’s the place, boy;” and he turned his eyes upon a slip of paper in front of his desk.
I said, “Thank you!” and went on along the passage between two rows of the frame desks to where the fierce-looking bald man was still gesticulating, and as I drew near I could hear what he said.
“I’ve spoken till I’m tired of speaking; your slips are as foul as a ditch. Confound you, sir, you’re a perfect disgrace to the whole chapel. Do you think your employers keep readers to do nothing else but correct your confounded mistakes? Read your stick, sir—read your stick!”
“Very sorry,” grumbled the man, “but it was two o’clock this morning, and I was tired as a dog.”