“Out of my senses! No; you are my enemy! Are you not my rival? Did not you win the premium? Did not you want to be manager? Answer me, are not you, in one word, a Greybeard?”
“You called me a Greybeard, but my name is De Grey,” said he, still laughing.
“Laugh on!” cried the other, furiously. “Come, Archers, follow me. We shall laugh by-and-by, I promise you.” At the door Archer was stopped by Mr. Chip. “Oh, Mr. Chip, I am ordered to discharge you.”
“Yes, sir; and here’s a little bill—”
“Bill, Mr. Chip! why, you have not been at work for two hours!”
“Not much over, sir; but if you’ll please to look into it, you’ll see ’tis for a few things you ordered. The stuff is all laid out and delivered. The paper and the festoon-bordering for the drawing room scene is cut out, and left yAnder within.”
“Yander, within! I wish you had not been in such a confounded hurry—six-and-twenty shillings!” cried he; “but I can’t stay to talk about it now. I’ll tell you, Mr. Chip,” said Archer, lowering his voice, “what you must do for me, my good fellow.”
Then, drawing Mr. Chip aside, he begged him to pull down some of the wood work which had been put up, and to cut it into a certain number of wooden bars, of which he gave him the dimensions, with orders to place them all, when ready, under a haystack, which he pointed out.
Mr. Chip scrupled and hesitated, and began to talk of “the doctor.” Archer immediately began to talk of the bill, and throwing down a guinea and a half, the conscientious carpenter pocketed the money directly, and made his bow.
“Well, Master Archer,” said he, “there’s no refusing you nothing. You have such a way of talking one out of it. You manage me just like a child.”