“Take your hook, do you hear, you—or I’ll warm you.”
“It’s a mistake,” put in Horace, hurriedly. “Mr Richmond said we were to come here to see the manager at nine o’clock.”
“And couldn’t you have said so at first?” growled the man, with his hand still on his ruler, and glaring at Reginald, “without giving yourselves airs as if you were gentry? Go on in, and don’t stand gaping there.”
“For goodness’ sake, Reg,” whispered Horace, as they knocked at the manager’s door, “don’t flare up like that, you’ll spoil all our chance.”
Reg said nothing, but he breathed hard, and his face was angry still.
“Come in!” cried a sharp voice, in answer to their knock.
They obeyed, and found a man standing with a pen in his mouth at a desk, searching through a file of papers. He went on with his work till he found what he wanted, apparently quite unconscious of the boys’ presence. Then he rang a bell for an overseer, whistled down a tube for a clerk, and shouted out of the door for a messenger, and gave orders to each. Then he sent for some one else, and gave him a scolding that made the unlucky recipient’s hair stand on end; then he received a visit from a friend, with whom he chatted and joked for a pleasant quarter of an hour; then he took up the morning paper and skimmed through it, whistling to himself as he did so; then he rang another bell and told the errand-boy who answered it to bring him in at one o’clock sharp a large boiled beef underdone, with carrots and turnips, and a pint of “s. and b.” (whatever that might mean). Then he suddenly became aware of the fact that he had visitors, and turned inquiringly to the two boys.
“Mr Richmond—” began Horace, in answer to his look.
But the manager cut him short.
“Oh, ah! yes,” he said. “Nuisance! Go to the composing-room and ask for Mr Durfy.”