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The great man handed him an envelope, and cooked majestic on. A wave of
that imperial hand, and Skinner had mingled with the past.
For know that the envelope contained three things: a cheque for a month's
wages; a character; and a dismissal, very polite and equally peremptory.
Skinner stood paralysed: the complacency died out of his face, and rueful
wonder came instead. It was some time before he could utter a word: at
last he faltered, "Turn me away, sir? turn away Noah Skinner? Your father
would never have said such a word to _my_ father." Skinner uttered this
his first remonstrance in a voice trembling with awe, but gathered
courage when he found he had done it, yet lived.
Mr. Hardie evaded his expostulation by a very simple means: he made no
reply, but continued his work, dignified as Brutus, inexorable as Fate,
cool as Cucumber.
Skinner's anger began to rise, he watched Mr. Hardie in silence, and said
to himself, "Curse you! you were born without a heart!"
He waited, however, for some sign of relenting, and, hoping for it the
water came into his own eyes.


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