"Yes, sir," said the dyer, as, with a business desire to placate a customer, he took up the coat quickly, turning it over with smooth, adroit tailors' fingers; "ah, ink-stains. Yes, sir, we can take those out for you, and make a very good bit of work, too. A valuable coat sir—fine material."
Sir Thomas Harrison straightened the arm that rested on the counter, lifted it, and pointed a blunt finger directly toward the coat.
"I want that tomarr' mornin'," he said, rolling out his voice with a stump orator's cadence, "tomarr' mornin'. First thing. See?"
"I'm sorry, sir," said Benwell, quietly. "We couldn't have it done before Wednesday—the day after to-morrow, that is. We are a bit behind this week, owing to press of work."
"Press o' work, nuthin'," said Harrison, jerking his hand, "take a half an hour off, an' fix that coat—to-marr' mornin'. I'll send around. Nine o'clock. See that you have it." He turned to go.
"I regret," said Benwell, still politely, "that we cannot break our fixed rule, made in fairness to all our customers, that all work must take its turn."
"Well," said Harrison, "you'll break it this time."
"We will not," said Benwell, firmly. "That is the rule by which this house has built up its business. We have never broken it, and never shall. It was originally made purely in a spirit of business fairness and courtesy; but it has paid, as well."
"Well," Sir Thomas leaned hard on the counter, and drove out the words, "it's a ba-ad rule"—the contractor said the "ba" part of the adjective with his mouth extended, red as a bull's, till the tongue was visible, flattened down within its crescent of big coarse white teeth—"a bad rule, I say, and it wun't pay you this time. I'll give this job to summun that's out fur business in th' proper way. Keen, see? On th' jump, see? Out fur th' old he-dollars—get me-e?"
"That is your prerogative, sir," said Benwell.