I soon began to suspect that Jack was not altogether comfortable in his new quarters, although he never hinted to the contrary. There were vague rumours which came across the partition of uncomfortableness which silently went on, and in which Jack took a prominent part; and an event which happened just a week after our arrival made the thing certain.
One morning, Mr Barnacle, apparently in a great hurry, looked in at the Import door and called out, “Smith, make me three copies of Elmore’s last consignment, at once, on foreign paper.”
“Yes, sir,” said Jack.
After a pause, I heard him say, “Will you lend me that entry-book, please, Harris, to make the copies from?”
“No,” curtly replied Harris; “I’m using it.”
“But Mr Barnacle says he must have it at once.”
“I can’t help that,” said Harris.
“That’s right, Harris!” said another voice; “pay him out for his beastly, selfish ill-nature!”
“Will you lend me the book, Harris?” again demanded Jack, in tones which I could tell were fast losing their calmness.
“No, I won’t! and what’s more, shut up your row!” replied Harris.