He paused for a moment; then a kind of painful smile crossed his features. ‘Very well, Silvester,’ he said, ‘_very_ well; proceed with your narrative. Relate the facts;’ and he sat on the edge of the high stool Blair had just vacated, folding his arms and stretching out his long legs before him. ‘That young brute of a Mallinson’---- began Jenkins. ‘Nothing libellous, please,’ said Mr Phogg, holding up one lean, yellow hand; ‘plain facts only. I will draw my own conclusions.’ ‘Well, sir, Mallinson then, crossing the office just now, deliberately upset an inkpot on my trousers, completely spoiling them.’ ‘We can recover the value if we find motive,’ said Mr Phogg, making a pencil note on a scrap of paper lying on Blair’s desk. ‘Proceed.’ ‘I was just showing Mallinson what he had done, and was telling him to be more careful another time, when he began cheeking me’---- ‘Being insolent, say,’ corrected Mr Phogg. ‘He has been most insolent ever since he got that new job and gave us notice. I was checking him for being chee--insolent, when that bully Blair seized his ruler, rushed at me, and attacked me like a mad-man. I struggled to get the ruler from him, when he threw it at me and smashed the window, afterwards punching me about the face like a prize-fighter. Just look at me.’ And indeed Mr Jenkins did look in a pretty plight, with one eye nearly closed, his nose swollen, his mouth cut, and his hands smeared with blacklead and soot off the grate. ‘Ha,’ said Mr Phogg, ‘just what I expected! You are a low, common bully, Blair; a worthless, lazy brat, whom I kept only out of charity,’ he continued, his thin lips curling back from his teeth as he spoke. ‘Now you shall go--do you hear?--you shall go, be bundled, without a reference, neck and crop out into the gutter, where you can starve, or sell matches, or thieve. I dare say you’re a thief as well as’---- ‘Stop!’ cried Blair, his eyes flashing fire. ‘Discharge me you can; but insult me you shall not. I am ready to go, for I’m sick to death of this place and its shady business, of you and your ape of a nephew. Give me my money and I’ll go at once.’ ‘Oh Mr Phogg, please, please!’ cried poor little Mallinson, coming forward and holding out his hands appealingly; ‘it wasn’t Blair’s fault, on my honour it wasn’t. Jenkins--Mr Jenkins, I mean--boxed my ears and pinched me, and twisted my arm till I had to scream, I couldn’t help it. And I didn’t upset the ink on him on purpose. Blair only interfered because Mr Jenkins was hurting me, and he’s always at it, and Blair told him last time he wouldn’t have any more of it. Oh, please, Mr Phogg, don’t sack Blair.’ ‘Silence, you little sneak!’ roared Mr Phogg; ‘leave the house, and depend upon it I’ll mention this occurrence in the character I shall give you.--Silvester, come into my room.’ Mr Phogg and his worthy nephew disappeared into the inner sanctum together; then Blair and Mallinson looked at one another, the latter almost on the verge of tears.