“How long has he worked for—for us?”
“I cannot tell without reference. I believe for twenty years or so. I can easily ascertain.” 379
Christopher stared out of the window for so long that the head clerk thought he had forgotten the matter and was disagreeably surprised when he spoke again.
“I shall be at Stormly this week and will see if Timmins wishes to retire or not. You have no fault to find with him as a gardener, I suppose?”
Mr. Clisson smiled. “A man who has served for twenty years will not be an indifferent workman sir. Timmins’ accounts are exemplary.”
“The matter will stand over. Please see no one is dismissed under this age regulation without my knowledge. That is all now.” His manner was as curt again as his father’s. Mr. Clisson closed the door behind him with a vague feeling that the two years of his authority were but a dream and that the thin, square figure behind the office table had unaccountably widened out to the portly proportions of his old master.
Christopher drew to him the pile of letters he had reserved and fell to work. He dared not allow himself to think yet, but now and again when his heart and soul ran counter to the tenor of what he read he put out his hand and touched the little green knife his father had handled for some unknown person’s sake.