“Because,” said I, “you have to get to work at a certain time?”
“Yes,” he answered, “because of that.”
“And it’s not in you to be a minute late,” I observed, “as much as one morning in a month.”
“I don’t want,” said he to this, “to be a minute late one morning in a year.”
I looked at him in admiration; there was purpose, there was earnestness in his face, and there was a glow in his eyes, that made me take to him more and more, and to feel almost like a father to him. “This is a boy,” said I to myself, “that is going to get on in the world.”
“I’ll call you,” I said. “Is it a new place you’ve got?”
“Yes,” he answered, “and I’m to get five shillings a week, and a shilling rise at the end of twelve months, if I give satisfaction. Then there’s a chance of overtime.”
I nodded. “What time are you due in the morning?”
“Half-past seven.”
“It must be a long way off from here?”