Jabez was still in the brace and umbrella room, but there was a wide door of communication between the two, and he had frequently to pass through the former with finished goods for the ware and show-rooms on the lower floors, and had to go cautiously past the large scale, lest he should tilt the beam with his ungainly burdens. Now and then it occurred to him that the bulk of silk or worsted in the scale was large in proportion to the weight, as called out by Kit Townley, and once he was moved to say—
“Is that balance true? or have you made a mistake, Townley?”
“Mind your own business, Clegg, and don’t hinder mine. Naught ails the scales, and I know better than make mistakes.”
“Well, I only thought,” persisted Jabez.
“I wish you’d think and keep those umbrellas clear of the beam. You’re always thrutching past with great loads on your shoulder when I am weighing out,” interrupted Kit, testily, and Jabez held his peace.
But if he went on his way quietly, he was equally observant, and saw the same thing happen again too often to be the result of accident. Moreover, from the window of the little room where he had a broad desk for designing, he saw Kit meet the same men and women stealthily after hours under the opposite gateway.
“Kit,” said he, one night, when they went to their attic, “what do you meet Jackson, Bradley, and Mary Taylor under the gateway for so often?”
Kit, arrested with his warehouse jacket half on and half off, asked sharply—
“Who says I meet them under the gateway?”
“I say so. I have seen you myself.”