“Have you? I’m afraid I shall never learn as much as you have,” he said, with his old smile.
“Now then, young governor,” said Harris, “when it’s quite convenient to you we’ll get to work. Don’t put yourself out, pray; but if you can spare the time from your friend, I should like you to add up this column.”
Hawkesbury looked a little astonished at this speech, but at once replied, with a smile, “You are Mr Harris, I suppose? I shall be glad to learn what you can teach me.”
If Harris had expected to put the new-comer down by his witticisms he was sorely mistaken. Hawkesbury coolly seated himself at the desk beside him, and, with the air more of a man inspecting the work of another than of a learner seeking information, he examined the papers and books handed to him and catechised Harris as to their contents.
It was evident that he was fully aware from the beginning of his own position at the office, and that he wished us all to be aware of it also. He adopted a patronising air towards me and Jack and the other clerks, as if we were already in his employment and doing his work.
“A jolly cool hand,” growled Doubleday to Crow, in an undertone most unusual to him when the principals were out of hearing. “I’m glad I’m not Harris.”
“Now then, Harris,” said Crow, “mind how you dot your p’s and q’s, old man—I mean your i’s.”
Hawkesbury looked up from his work and said, smiling, “I think Mr Harris dots his i’s very well. What did you say is entered in this column, Harris?”
This was nothing short of a snub to Crow, who was quiet for the rest of the day.
After business, as Jack and I were proceeding to walk home, Hawkesbury came up and joined our party.