“Look here, Mr. Briggs!” he said, so sharply that Baldwin stopped with an abruptness that proved his astonishment. “If you’ve anything to say get it said, and don’t unload all your foul talk on to me. Why the devil should I have my ears turned into sewers for all your filth? The post can have brought you naught you haven’t expected. If you want my help, get to the point, and if you don’t I’ll go back. I’m in a mood to jack the whole thing up this morning, and let you go to hell your own way.” His tone was so surly and menacing that Baldwin, who had dropped into a chair and was staring at him with blinking eyes that had something of fear in them as well as wonder, found himself without words. “If you’ve aught to say to me about the shop—aught ’at either I or the other chaps have got to do, I’ll take your instructions. If it’s your business affairs you’re troubled with you must fight ’em out yourself; I’ve said all I can say.” “Oh, you have, have you? And I must, must I?”—the spark of life in Baldwin’s spirit manifested itself in one last kick against this unwelcome dictatorship; but his dependence on the other’s strength made actual opposition impossible, and the defiant tone ended in a surly whine. “You’ll be same as all t’ rest, I reckon. When t’ old dog’s teeth are gone and there’s naught left but its bark, every cur’ll snap at it.” “Every dog has its day,” commented Inman cynically. “I’ve offered to prolong yours, and these writs you are talking about needn’t have worried you. I can say no more.” Baldwin’s eyes rested wearily upon the letters that strewed the table in front of him. For a moment or two he said nothing; but his brow bent more and more until tiny drops of moisture appeared above the coarse pepper-coloured hairs which bristled like those of a wild boar. Inman watched him in silence. “Have you that brass handy?” The eyes were not raised from the table, and the voice was a hollow echo of Baldwin’s. “You can have it as soon as the document’s ready.” “Then get t’ document, and be hanged to you!” Baldwin rose and went over to the cupboard; but Inman interposed. “There’s nothing there; you finished it last night, and it’s perhaps as well. You’d best keep sober this afternoon and think the matter over. If you’re in the same mind to-morrow morning I’ll go over to Keepton and fix the thing up. I’m not going to have it said ’at I took advantage of you. It wouldn’t take two straws to make me back out altogether, for I tell you straight I don’t care to trust a man who drinks himself blind every night.” Without waiting to see what effect these words had upon his master, Inman turned upon his heel and went out; but when Baldwin joined him at the dinner table a few minutes later the storm—if storm there had been—had spent itself, and both men recovered themselves a little during the meal.