"They have gone for the evening," Mrs. Mortomley answered. "Excepting at very busy times, they never work later than half-past five."
"Nice management!" commented Mr. Forde.
"I believe that is the usual hour in most factories," she ventured.
He did not contradict her, but contented himself with shaking his head as though he would imply that it was useless further to comment on the bad management of Homewood, and walked about the premises, peering into this vat and that cask, as if he expected to come suddenly upon a mine of silver, or a heap of gold dust.
Anything funnier to an uninterested spectator than Mr. Forde looking about the colour works, to see what Mortomley had done with his money, could not possibly be conceived; but, then, there chanced to be no uninterested spectator,—not even Messrs Lang and Hankins, who happened to be making up some goods accounts in a little sentry-box of an office that stood near the outer gates.
"Who are they?" asked Hankins of his companion, who, while thrusting his arms into his coat which he had thrown off for greater convenience during his arithmetical calculations, answered,
"One of them, the biggest, is Forde. Let me get away before they see us! he asks as many questions as an Old Bailey lawyer and about as civilly, and I am afraid his being here means no good to our governor!"
"Oh! that's the chap, is it?" replied Mr. Hankins. "Well, he may ask me as many questions as he likes;" and as one who smelleth the battle afar off, Mr. Hankins stepped out of his sentry-box, and walked in a débonnaire manner across the yard to meet the visitors.