Yesterday he would have defiantly told him to pick it up himself, caring little what the cost might be. But things had changed since then. Humiliating as it was to own it, he could not afford to be turned off. His pride could not afford it, his care for young Gedge could not afford it, the slender family purse could not afford it. Why ever did he not think of it all before, and spare himself this double indignity?
With a groan which represented as much inward misery and humiliation as could well be compressed into a single action, he stooped down and picked up the type and handed it to Mr Durfy.
It was well for him he did not raise his eyes to see the smile with which that gentleman received it.
“Next time it’ll save you trouble to do what you’re told at once, Mr Puppy,” he said. “Get on with your work, and don’t let me catch you idling your time any more.”
And he walked off crowned with victory and as happy in his mind as if he had just heard of the decease of his enemy the manager.
It was a bad beginning to the day for Reginald. He had come to work that morning in a virtuous frame of mind, determined, if possible, to do his duty peaceably and to hold out a helping hand to young Gedge. It was hard enough now to think of anything but his own indignities and the wretch to whom he owed them.
He turned to his work almost viciously, and for an hour buried himself in it, without saying a word or lifting his eyes from his case. Then young Gedge, stealing a nervous glance at his face, ventured to say,—
“I say, Cruden, I wish I could stand things like you. I don’t know what I should have done if that blackguard had treated me like that.”
“What’s the use?” said Reginald. “He wants to get rid of me, and I’m not going to let him.”
“I’m jolly glad of it for my sake. I wish I could pay him out for you.”