Little Chandler felt his cheeks suffused with shame
and he stood back out of the lamplight. He listened
while the paroxysm of the child’s sobbing grew
less and less; and tears of remorse started to his
eyes.
The bell rang furiously and, when Miss Parker
went to the tube, a furious voice called out in a
piercing North of Ireland accent:
“Send Farrington here!”
Miss Parker returned to her machine, saying to a man
who was writing at a desk:
“Mr. Alleyne wants you upstairs.”
The man muttered “Blast him!” under his
breath and pushed back his chair to stand up.
When he stood up he was tall and of great bulk.
He had a hanging face, dark wine-coloured, with fair
eyebrows and moustache: his eyes bulged forward
slightly and the whites of them were dirty. He
lifted up the counter and, passing by the clients,
went out of the office with a heavy step.
He went heavily upstairs until he came to the second
landing, where a door bore a brass plate with the
inscription Mr. Alleyne. Here he halted, puffing
with labour and vexation, and knocked. The shrill
voice cried:
“Come in!”
The man entered Mr. Alleyne’s room. Simultaneously
Mr. Alleyne, a little man wearing gold-rimmed glasses
on a cleanshaven face, shot his head up over a pile
of documents. The head itself was so pink and
hairless it seemed like a large egg reposing on the
papers. Mr. Alleyne did not lose a moment:
“Farrington? What is the meaning of this?
Why have I always to complain of you? May I ask
you why you haven’t made a copy of that contract
between Bodley and Kirwan? I told you it must
be ready by four o’clock.”
“But Mr. Shelley said, sir——”
“Mr. Shelley said, sir .... Kindly attend
to what I say and not to what Mr. Shelley says, sir.
You have always some excuse or another for shirking
work. Let me tell you that if the contract is
not copied before this evening I’ll lay the
matter before Mr. Crosbie.... Do you hear me
now?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you hear me now?... Ay and another
little matter! I might as well be talking to
the wall as talking to you. Understand once for
all that you get a half an hour for your lunch and
not an hour and a half. How many courses do you
want, I’d like to know.... Do you mind
me now?”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Alleyne bent his head again upon his pile of papers.
The man stared fixedly at the polished skull which
directed the affairs of Crosbie & Alleyne, gauging
its fragility. A spasm of rage gripped his throat
for a few moments and then passed, leaving after it
a sharp sensation of thirst. The man recognised
the sensation and felt that he must have a good night’s
drinking. The middle of the month was passed
and, if he could get the copy done in time, Mr. Alleyne
might give him an order on the cashier. He stood
still, gazing fixedly at the head upon the pile of
papers. Suddenly Mr. Alleyne began to upset all
the papers, searching for something. Then, as
if he had been unaware of the man’s presence
till that moment, he shot up his head again, saying:
