“Hold your tongue, sir,” broke out the virtuous Doubleday. “Didn’t you hear Mr Barnacle say you were to get no assistance? What do you mean by it? I’m ashamed of you; so’s Wallop.”
“I shall mention the matter to the governor,” observed Wallop, with a grin at his ally.
“Oh, don’t,” I said. “I beg your pardon!” It was evidently hopeless to expect any light from without on the problem, so I decided for myself I would include the account in question. I was just beginning to copy it out, and to shut my ears to the chaff that was going on around me, when the counting-house door opened, and the solemn face of my friend Smith appeared, asking if Messrs Merrett, Barnacle, and Company were at home.
His quick eye detected me at once, and I felt very uncomfortable, lest he should misunderstand the state of affairs and jump to the conclusion that I had been already engaged by the firm. At all risks I determined to put him right on this point.
“I’m not taken on, Jack,” I said, before his question had been answered. “They’ve given me—”
“I’ll give you a box on the ears, young gentleman,” broke out the amazed Doubleday. “You’re forgetting yourself. Go on with your work. Now then, young hop-o’-my-thumb,” said he, addressing himself to Smith, “what do you want?”
Smith solemnly produced a letter, which he exhibited to the senior clerk.
“Oh, you’re after the place too, are you, young bull’s-eye?”
“Yes,” said Smith, solemnly, and apparently not aware that the last expression had been intended as a joke.
“Why don’t you laugh, eh?” cried Wallop; “we all laugh here when Doubles makes a joke; don’t we, Crow?”