Mr Durfy still went on writing with a cheerful smile on his countenance.
“Do you hear?” said Reginald, almost shouting the words. “I’m not going to please you. I shall go to please myself. I give you notice, and thank Heaven I’ve done with you.”
Durfy looked up with a laugh.
“Go and make that noise outside,” he said. “We can do without you here. Gedge, my man, put those cases beside you back into the rack, and go and tell the porter he’s wanted.”
The mention of Gedge’s name cowed Reginald in an instant, and in the sudden revulsion of feeling which ensued he was glad enough to escape from the room before fairly breaking down under a crushing sense of injury, mortification, and helplessness. Gedge was at the door as he went out.
“Oh, Cruden,” he whispered, “what will become of me now? Wait for me outside at seven o’clock; please do.”
That afternoon Reginald paced the streets more like a hunted beast than a human being. All the bad side of his nature—his pride, his conceit, his selfishness—was stirred within him under a bitter sense of shame and indignity. He forgot how much his own intractable temper and stupid self-importance had contributed to his fall, and could think of nothing but Durfy’s triumph and the evil fate which at the very moment, when he was able to snap his fingers in the tyrant’s face, had driven him forth in disgrace with the tyrant’s fingers snapped in his face. He had not spirit or resolution enough to wait to see Gedge or any one that evening, but slunk away, hating the sight of everybody, and wishing only he could lose himself and forget that such a wretch as Reginald Cruden existed.
Ah! Reginald. It’s a long race to escape from oneself. Men have tried it before now with better reason than you, and failed. Wait till you have something worse to run from, my honest, foolish friend. Face round like a man, and stand up to your pursuer. You have hit out straight from the shoulder before to-day. Do it again now. One smart round will finish the business, for this false Reginald is a poor creature after all, and you can knock him out of time and over the ropes with one hand if you like. Try it, and save your running powers for an uglier foeman some other day!
Reginald did fight it out with himself as he walked mile after mile that afternoon through the London streets, and by the time he reached home in the evening he was himself again.
He met his mother’s tears and Horace’s dismal looks with a smile of triumph.