“I say, how long has he been gone?”
“I was only gone a few minutes, sir,” I said.
“Gone a few minutes, you scoundrel! How dare you be gone a few minutes, leaving my office open? You’re no more use than a boy out of the streets, and if I did my duty by you, I should thrash you till you could not stand. Back to your desk, you dog, and the next time I catch you at any of these tricks off you go, and no character.”
As I climbed back to my place at the desk, hot, flushed, and indignant, feeling more and more unable to explain the reason for my absence, and guilty at the same time—knowing as I did that I had no business to steal off—Mr Dempster turned once more upon Esau, who backed away from him round the office, sparring away with his arms to ward off the blows aimed at him, though I don’t think they were intended to strike, but only as a malicious kind of torture.
“Here, don’t you hit me! don’t you hit me!” Esau kept on saying, as if this was the only form of words he could call up in his excitement.
“I’ll half break your neck for you, you scoundrel! Is that catalogue done?”
“How can I get it done when you keep on chivvying me about the place?” cried Esau.
“How can you get it done if you go to sleep, you scoundrel, you mean. Now then, up on to that stool, and if it isn’t done you stop after hours till it is done. Here, what are you staring at? Get on with those letters.”
Mr Dempster had turned upon me furiously as I sat looking, and with a sigh I went on with my writing, while red-faced and wet-eyed, for he could not keep the tears back, Esau climbed slowly on to his stool, and gave a tremendous sniff.
“I shall tell mother as soon as I get home,” he cried.