Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles Part 63

"Thee will please put thy ap.r.o.n on."

Now, having to wear this ap.r.o.n was the very bugbear of Cyril Dare's life. "There's no need of an ap.r.o.n to paper gloves," he responded.

"Thee will put on thy ap.r.o.n, friend," calmly repeated Samuel Lynn.

"I hate the ap.r.o.n," fumed Cyril, jerking open another drawer, and jerking out his ap.r.o.n; for he might not openly disobey the authority of Samuel Lynn. "I should think I am the first gentleman that ever was made to wear one."

"If thee are practically engaged in a glove manufactory, thee must wear an ap.r.o.n, gentleman or no gentleman," equably returned the Quaker. "As we all do."

"All don't!" retorted Cyril. "The master does not."

"Thee are not in the master's position yet, Cyril Dare. And I would advise thee to exercise thy discretion more and thy tongue less."

The discussion was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Ashley, and the room dropped into silence. There might be no presuming in the presence of the master. He sat down to his desk, and opened his morning letters.

Presently a young man put his head in and addressed Samuel Lynn.

"Noaks, the stainer, has come in, sir. He says the skins given out to him yesterday would be better for coloured than blacks."

"Desire James Meeking to attend to him," said Mr. Lynn.

"James Meeking isn't here, sir. He's up in the cutters' room, or somewhere."

Samuel Lynn, upon this, went out himself. Cyril Dare followed him. Cyril was rather fond of taking short trips about the manufactory, as interludes to his work. Soon after, the master lifted his head.

"Step here, William."

William put down the gloves he was examining and approached the desk.

"What sort of a French scholar are you?" inquired Mr. Ashley.

"A very good one, sir," he replied, after a pause given to surprise. "I know it thoroughly. I can read and write it as readily as I can English."

"But I mean as to speaking. Could you make yourself understood, for instance, if you were suddenly dropped down into a French town, where the natives spoke nothing but their own language?"

William smiled. "I don't think I should have much difficulty over it. I have been so much with Monsieur Colin that I talk as fast as he does. He stops me occasionally to grumble at what he calls _l'accent anglais_."

"I am not sure that I shall not send you on a mission to France,"

resumed Mr. Ashley. "You can be better spared than Samuel Lynn; and it must be one of you. Will you undertake it?"

"I will undertake anything that you wish me to do, sir, that I could accomplish," replied William, lifting his clear earnest eyes to those of his master.

"You are an exceedingly good judge of skins: even Samuel Lynn admits that. I want some intelligent, trustworthy person to go over to France, look about the markets there, and pick up what will suit us. The demand for skins is great at the present time, and the markets must be watched to select suitable bales before other bidders step in and pounce upon them. By these means we may secure some good bargains and good skins: we have succeeded lately in doing neither."

"At Annonay, I presume you mean, sir."

"Annonay and its neighbourhood; that's the chief market for dressed skins. The undressed pelts are to be met with best, as you are aware, in the neighbourhood of Lyons. You would have to look after both. I have talked the matter over with Mr. Lynn, and he thinks you may be trusted both as to ability and conduct."

"I will do my best if I am sent," replied William.

"Your stay might extend over two or three months. We can do with a great deal; both of pelts and dressed skins. The dressers at Annonay----Cyril, what are you doing there?"

Cyril could scarcely have told. He had come into the counting-house unnoticed, and his ears had picked up somewhat of the conversation. In his anger and annoyance, Cyril had remained, his face turned towards the speakers, listening for more.

For it had oozed out at Pomeranian Knoll, through a word dropped by Henry Ashley, that Mr. Ashley had it in contemplation to despatch some one from the manufactory on this mission to France, and that the some one would not be Samuel Lynn. Cyril received the information with avidity, never doubting that _he_ would be the one fixed upon. To give him his due, he was really a good judge of skins--not better than William; but somehow Cyril had never given a thought to William in the matter. Greatly had he antic.i.p.ated the journey to the land of pleasure, where he would be under no one's control but his own. In that moment, when he heard Mr. Ashley speaking to William upon the subject, not to him, Cyril felt at war with every one and everything; with the master, with William, and especially with the business, which he hated as much as he had ever done.

But Mr. Ashley was not one to do things in a hurry, and he had only broached the subject.

CHAPTER XV.

"NOTHING RISK, NOTHING WIN."

It was Sat.u.r.day night, the Sat.u.r.day after the above conversation, and Mr. Lynn was making ready to pay the men. James Meeking was payer in a general way; but James Meeking was also packer; that is, he packed, with a.s.sistance, the goods destined for London. A parcel was being sent off this evening, so that it fell to Mr. Lynn's lot to pay the workmen. He stood before the desk in the serving-room, counting out the money in readiness. There was a quant.i.ty of silver in a bag, and a great many brown paper packets of halfpence; each packet containing five shillings. But they all had to be counted, for sometimes a packet would run a penny or twopence short.

The door at the foot of the stairs was heard to open, and a man's step came up. It proved to be a workman from a neighbouring manufactory.

"If you please, Mr. Lynn, could you oblige our people with twelve or fourteen pounds' worth of change?" he asked. "We couldn't get in enough to-day, try as we would. The halfpence seem as scarce as the silver."

Now it happened that the Ashley manufactory was that evening abundantly supplied. Samuel Lynn went into the counting-house to the master, who was seated at the desk. "The Dunns have sent in to know if we can oblige them with twelve or fourteen pounds' worth of change," said he. "We have plenty to-night; but to send away so much may run us very short. Dost thee happen to have any gold that thee can spare?"

Mr. Ashley looked at his own cash drawer. "Here are six, seven sovereigns."

"That will be sufficient," replied Samuel Lynn, taking them from his hand, and going back to the applicant in the serving-room. "How much has thee need of?" asked he.

"Fourteen pounds, please, sir. I have the cheque here, made out for it.

Silver or copper, it doesn't matter which; or a little gold. I have brought a basket along with me."

Mr. Lynn gave the money, and took the cheque. The man departed, and the Quaker carried the cheque to Mr. Ashley.

Mr. Ashley put the cheque into one of the pigeon-holes of his desk. He had the account in duplicate before him, of the goods going off, and was casting it up. William and Cyril were both in the counting-house, but not engaged with Mr. Ashley. William was marking small figures on certain banded gloves; Cyril was looking on, an employment that suited Cyril amazingly. His want of occupation caught the Quaker's eye.

"If thee has nothing to do, thee can come and help me count the papers of coppers."

Cyril dared not say "No," before Mr. Ashley. He might have hesitated to say it to Samuel Lynn; nevertheless, it was a work he especially disliked. It is _not_ pleasant to soil the fingers counting innumerable five-shilling brown-paper packets of copper money; to part them into stacks of twelve pence, or twenty-four halfpence. In point of fact, it was James Meeking's work; but there were times when Samuel Lynn, William, and Cyril had each to take his turn at it. Perhaps the two former liked it no better than did Cyril Dare.

Cyril ungraciously followed to the serving-room. In a few minutes James Meeking looked in at the counting-house. "Is the master ready?"

Mr. Ashley rose and went into the next room, carrying one of the duplicate lists. The men were waiting to pack--James Meeking and the other packer, a young man named Dance. The several papers of boxes were ready on a side counter; and Mr. Ashley stood with the list in his hand, ready to verify them. Had Samuel Lynn not been occupied with serving, he would have done this.

"Three dozen best men's outsizes, coloured," called out James Meeking, reading the marks on the first parcel he took up.

"Right," responded Mr. Ashley.

James Meeking laid it upon the packing-table--clear, except for an enormous sheet of brown paper as thick as card-board--turned to the side counter and took up another of the parcels.

"Three dozen best men's outsizes, coloured," repeated he.