"Perhaps you will find it so, after you have done your worst."
"Conceited puppy! I took you into my office out of charity! Go to your place. Charity can do no more for you."
"If you can afford to discharge me, I can afford to be discharged," replied Mr. Wittleworth, as he stroked his chin, and walked out of the shop.
"The young vagabond!" muttered Mr. Checkynshaw. "I took him to keep his mother from starving. André," he added, imperiously.
The barber with the effeminate voice and the silky hands turned from the customer he was shaving, and bowed politely to the magnate of the house of Checkynshaw, Hart, & Co.
"André, my daughter Elinora goes to a juvenile party this evening, and wishes you to dress her hair at four o'clock."
"Yes, sir; with Mr. Cutts's permission, I will attend her at that hour."
Mr. Checkynshaw looked as though Mr. Cutts's permission was not at all necessary when he desired anything; but Mr. Cutts did not venture to interpose any obstacle to the wish of a person so influential as the banker. Mr. Checkynshaw turned to leave, went as far as the door, and then returned.
"André," he continued, "you spoke to me of a boy of yours."
"My adopted son, sir," replied the barber.