In the small passage between Mr. Ashley's room and Samuel Lynn's, William hung up the cloak and cap. The Quaker turned to Cyril Dare, who was taking off his great-coat, stern displeasure in his tone. "Dost thee know the time?" "Just gone half-past nine," replied Cyril. Mr. Lynn held out his watch to Cyril. It wanted seventeen minutes to ten. "Nine o'clock is thy hour. I am tired of telling thee to be more punctual. And thee did not come before breakfast." "I overslept myself," said Cyril. "As thee dost pretty often, it seems. If thee can do no better than thee did yesterday, as well oversleep thyself for good. Look at these gloves." "Well!" cried Cyril, who was a good-looking young man, in stature not far short of William. At least he would have been good-looking, but for his eyes; there was a look in them, almost amounting to a squint; and they did not gaze openly and honestly into another's eyes. His face was thin, and his features were well-formed. "Well!" cried he. "It is well," repeated the Quaker; "well that I looked at them, for they must be done again. Firsts are mixed with seconds, thirds with firsts; I do not know that I ever saw gloves so ill made up. What have I told thee?" "Lots of things," responded Cyril, who liked to set the manager at defiance, as far as he dared. "I have desired thee never to attempt to make up the gloves. I now forbid thee again; and thee will do well not to forget it. Begin and band these gloves that William Halliburton is making ready." Cyril jerked open the drawer where the paper bands were kept, took some out of it, and carried them to the counter, where William stood. Mr. Lynn interposed with another order. "Thee will please put thy apron on." Now, having to wear this apron was the very bugbear of Cyril Dare's life. "There's no need of an apron to paper gloves," he responded. "Thee will put on thy apron, friend," calmly repeated Samuel Lynn. "I hate the apron," fumed Cyril, jerking open another drawer, and jerking out his apron; 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 apron, 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.