"He hasn't shown it so far."
"Make allowances. It's his way. He has such notions about the new style—which we—which you and I mayn't always approve. But he knows your value. He has said so again and again."
It was not long after this secret appeal—one morning that Marsden spent in Mallingbridge—when the shop heard "the Guv'nor begin on Mr. M."
"Look here, my friend," said Mr. Marsden loudly, "it's about time that we took each other's measure. Is it you or I who is to be cock of the walk? Just step in here, please."
This was said outside the counting-house. The proprietor and the manager at once disappeared; and the news flew far and wide, downstairs and upstairs. "He has got old Mears behind the glass.... He is giving old Mears a dressing-down." All had known that the thing was infallibly coming; the encounter between the greater and the lesser force had been unaccountably delayed; every man and woman in the building now trembled for the result.
"You want to put your authority up against mine. That won't do. One boss is enough in a larger establishment than this."
But behind the glass old Mears was very firm. He made himself as big as possible, standing at his full height, seeming to imitate Marsden's trick of squaring the shoulders and throwing back the head.
"I am the boss. And what I say goes."
"And your partner, sir? Mrs. Thompson, I should say Mrs. Marsden—are we to disregard her?"