"Is this the way you waste your time and your money? I sent you to the post-office, and you have been gone over half an hour."
"I had to wait for my turn," pleaded Mr. Wittleworth.
"When I send you to the post-office, you will not loiter away your time in a barber's shop, you conceited puppy. I'll discharge you!"
"Discharge me!" exclaimed Mr. Wittleworth, stung by the epithet of the banker. "I think not, sir."
The young gentleman placed his hat upon his head, canting it over on one side, so as to give him a saucy and jaunty appearance. Mr. Checkynshaw, whose clerk, or rather "boy," he was, had often scolded him, and even abused him, in the private office of the banking-house, but never before in a place so public as a barber's shop in 'Change Street, and in 'change hours. He felt outraged by the assault; for Mr. Wittleworth, as his employer had rather indelicately hinted, had a high opinion of himself. He straightened himself up, and looked impudent—a phase in his conduct which the banker had never before observed, and he stood aghast at this indication of incipient rebellion.
"You think not, you puppy!" exclaimed the banker, stamping his feet with rage.
"I think not! It wouldn't be a prudent step for you to take," answered Mr. Wittleworth, stung again by the insulting appellations heaped upon him. "I know rather too much about your affairs to be cast out so thoughtlessly."
"I will discharge you this very day!" replied the banker, his teeth set firmly together.
"I think you will find that the affairs of Messrs. Checkynshaw, Hart, & Co. will not go on so smoothly without me as they do with me," added Mr. Wittleworth, as he canted his hat over a little more on one side, and pulled up his shirt collar.
"Without you!" gasped the banker, confounded by the assumption of his employee.