“Here’s ‘mogany’ lower down, and ‘Tarpet’ for ‘Turkey carpet.’”
“Write it again, do,” I said, for I dreaded the scene that I knew there would be.
“Ah, well, all right, but I know I shall muddle it again, and—”
“As usual,” cried Mr Dempster, and we both started back on to our stools, for we had been standing up on the rails leaning towards each other over the double desk, so intent on the errors that we had not heard him open the door softly—I believe, on purpose to surprise us.
We began writing hard, and I felt my heart beating fast, as our employer banged the door heavily and strode up to the desk.
I gave one quick glance at him as he turned to Esau’s side, and snatched up the sheet of paper the boy tried to hide under the blotting-pad; and as I looked I saw that his face was flushed and fierce-looking as I had never seen it before.
“Hah!” he ejaculated, as he took off his glossy hat and stood it on a chair, with his ivory-handled Malacca cane across it. “Pretty stuff this, upon my word. Here, let me look at that letter.”
He reached over and snatched the missive I was writing from the desk, and held it up before him.
“Do you call that writing?” he roared. “Disgraceful! Abominable! The first boy I met in the street would do better. There—and there—and there!”
He tore the letter to fragments and threw the paper in my face.