It was in anything but exuberant spirits that the two Crudens presented themselves on the following morning at the workman’s entrance of the Rocket Newspaper Company, Limited. The bell was beginning to sound as they did so, and their enemy the timekeeper looked as though he would fain discover a pretext for pouncing on them and giving them a specimen of his importance. But even his ingenuity failed in this respect, and as Horace passed him with a good-humoured nod, he had, much against his will, to nod back, and forego his amiable intentions.
The brothers naturally turned their steps to the room presided over by Mr Durfy. That magnate had not yet arrived, much to their relief, and they consoled themselves in his absence by standing at the table watching their fellow-workmen as they crowded in and proceeded with more or less alacrity to settle down to their day’s work.
Among those who displayed no unseemly haste in applying themselves to their tasks was Barber, who, with the dust of the back case-room still in his mind, and equally on his countenance, considered the present opportunity of squaring up accounts with Reginald too good to be neglected. For reasons best known to himself, Mr Barber determined that his victim’s flagellation should be moral rather than physical. He would have liked to punch Reginald’s head, or, better still, to have knocked Reginald’s and Horace’s heads together. But he saw reasons for denying himself that pleasure, and fell back on the more ethereal weapons of his own wit.
“Hullo, puddin’ ’ead,” he began, “’ow’s your pa and your ma to-day? Find the Old Bailey a ’ealthy place, don’t they?”
Reginald favoured the speaker by way of answer with a stare of mingled scorn and wrath, which greatly elevated that gentleman’s spirits.
“’Ow long is it they’ve got? Seven years, ain’t it? My eye, they won’t know you when they come out, you’ll be so growed.”
The wrath slowly faded from Reginald’s face, as the speaker proceeded, leaving only the scorn to testify to the interest he took in this intellectual display.
Horace, delighted to see there was no prospect of a “flare-up,” smiled, and began almost to enjoy himself.
“I say,” continued Barber, just a little disappointed to find that his exquisite humour was not as electrical in its effect as it would have been on any one less dense than the Crudens, “’ow is it you ain’t got a clean collar on to-day, and no scent on your ’andkerchers—eh?”
This was getting feeble. Even Mr Barber felt it, for he continued, in a more lively tone,—