I was losing my temper fast. Masham’s letter burned in my pocket, and the sight of this fellow giving himself airs to me was as much as I could stand.
Fortunately for us both, however, he did not prolong the discussion, but went to his desk.
It was evident, despite his assumed displeasure, he was very much put out about something. That something, I could not help thinking, must be my presence. He fidgeted about uneasily, looking now at the clock, now at me, now opening his desk, now shutting it, now scribbling on the paper before him, now tearing it up.
All this I saw as I tried to proceed steadily with my work. At last he brought me an envelope he had just addressed, and said in a rather more persuasive manner than he had yet assumed—
“Batchelor, would you kindly take this note round to Hodge and Company’s? It is very important; they should have had it yesterday.”
“Hodge’s are never open till ten,” I said.
“Oh yes, indeed they are. At least they expect this letter by nine o’clock. It’s a bill of lading for their goods.”
“If that’s so,” replied I, “the mail went out yesterday—you know that—and there’s not another till Monday.”
“Oh, but there’s a letter with it that has to be attended to immediately.”
“It’s not been copied,” said I, who had charge of the letter-book, and was responsible for copying everything that went out.