Norton hesitated. It would have pleased him to tell Haviland just what he thought of him, but he remembered Alice and said, “Yes,” instead, adding grudgingly, “I shall be glad to accept it.”
“At twelve hundred a year?”
“Yes.”
“Very well, then,—that's all.”
As John went back to his desk he knew that Gordon's glance followed him from the door of the private office. He mounted his stool and took up his pen.
The old bookkeeper slunk over to his side and placed a trembling hand on one corner of the ledger above which John was bending intently.
“What sort of a mood was he in, Norton,—nasty?”
John nodded.
“Did he have anything to say about me?” Without lifting his head John nodded again. Gordon fingered the corner of the big book nervously.
“I never got such a calling down from him before. But then, you know, you've got to stand his temper if you want to get along with him, and what's the odds,—we're paid for it, and it's all in a lifetime.” He studied John's face guardedly. “What did he say, Norton?”