“May be, sir. I’ll allow it sounds foolishness, but—oh Lord, sir, where’s the use o’ back-thinking now. I reckon you’d never do a hand’s turn for nobody if you spent your time looking backward and forrard at your jobs.” He stopped, his chin quivering.
“Job Grantley, you were a fool.” Nicholas repeated the words with even deliberation.
The man moved silently towards the window. There was a clumsy dignity about his figure.
“Stop,” said Nicholas. “Job Grantley, you are a fool.”
The man turned round.
“Go to that drawer,” ordered Nicholas, “and bring me a pocket-book you will find there.”
Mechanically the man did as he was bidden. Nicholas took the book.
“Now then,” he said opening it, “how much will put you right?”
The man stared.
“I—oh, sir.”