“Keep moving!”
“I insist on informing you,” shouted Lord Tilbury, plucking at the trousers with a nautical twitch, “of this one thing: Your uncle said in his cable that you were to take the next boat back to America.”
It had not been Sam’s intention to permit anything to shake the stern steeliness of his attitude, but this information did it. He stopped midway in an offensive sniff designed to afford a picturesque illustration of his view on the other’s air-poisoning qualities and gazed at him blankly.
“Did he say that?”
“Yes, he did.” Sam scratched his chin thoughtfully. Lord Tilbury began to feel a little better. “And,” he continued, “as I should imagine that a young man of your intellectual attainments has little scope for making a living except by sponging on his rich relatives, I presume that you will accede to his wishes. In case you may still suppose that you are a member of the staff of Tilbury House, I will disabuse you of that view. You are not.”
Sam remained silent; and Lord Tilbury, expanding and beginning to realise that there is nothing unpleasant about a battle of words provided that the battling is done in the right quarter, proceeded.
“I only engaged you as a favour to your uncle. On your merits you could not have entered Tilbury House as an office boy. I say,” he repeated in a louder voice, “that, had there been no question of obliging Mr. Pynsent, I would not have engaged you as an office boy.”
Sam came out of his trance.
“Are you still here?” he said, annoyed.
“Yes, I am still here. And let me tell you——”