“We must manage to stick together,” he said. “Horace, you know, is working in another part of the office. It’s awfully hard lines, for we set our minds on being together. But it can’t be helped; and I’m glad, any way, you’re here, young ’un.”
The young ’un beamed gratefully by way of response.
The paragraph by this time was nearly set-up, and the conversation was interrupted by the critical operation of lifting the “matter” from the stick and transferring it to a “galley,” a feat which the experienced “Magog” accomplished very deftly, and greatly to the amazement of his companion. Just as it was over, and Reginald was laughingly hoping he would not soon be expected to arrive at such a pitch of dexterity, Mr Durfy walked up.
“So that’s what you call doing your work, is it? playing the fool, and getting in another man’s way. Is that all you’ve done?”
Reginald glared at him, and answered,—
“I’m not playing the fool.”
“Hold your tongue and don’t answer me, you miserable puppy! Let me see what you have done.”
“I’ve been learning the boxes in the case,” said Reginald.
Mr Durfy sneered.
“You have, have you? That’s what you’ve been doing the last hour, I suppose. Since you’ve been so industrious, pick me out a lower-case ‘x,’ do you hear?”