"Yes," said Mrs. Thompson firmly.
"You surprise me. I admit it."
"You don't think," said Mrs. Thompson, "that he is old enough for the responsibility. But, Mr. Mears, he has brains and he likes work. Tell the others that the appointment is made."
And big Mr. Mears did then what everyone in Thompson's always did—that is to say, he immediately obeyed orders; and before the last shutter was down, the news had flashed all through the restricted space of the old-fashioned shop.
"Dicky Marsden! Oh, drop me off a roof.... Marsden up again! Well, I'm bust!" Thompson's young gentlemen murmuring their comments, expressed astonishment, and a certain amount of envy. "Marsden over all our heads! This is a rum go, if you like."
"Fancy! What next! Would you believe it?" Thompson's young ladies, after being breathless, became shrill. "Why, on'y six months ago he was Number Three in the Carpets."
"He'll be prouder than ever."
"I shan't dare so much as speak to him."
"He always treated one as dirt under his feet," said a dark-haired, anæmic young lady. "And now!"
"With the increased screw," said a pert, blond young lady, "he'll be able to buy more smart clothes, and he'll look more fetching than ever. Yes, and you'll all be more in love with him than you are a'ready."