‘I don’t see the obligation, Webster,’ said Oliver, who simply knew the man by name. Webster was a young man of not more than five-and-twenty, though he was put prominently forward by his fellows. He had bushy sandy-coloured hair, and a large up-turned nose with deep lion-like lines drawn from its base to the corners of his mouth. Oliver spoke calmly, but he felt in some degree taken aback and ruffled by the commentary on his words. ‘The business has been conducted on the same principles all along. But if I see it advisable to make alterations, I shall let you know, when you must be prepared to agree to them, or quit my employment.’ ‘All right, sir,’ said Webster, promptly. ‘Of course you are entitled to say that much, while you will not refuse to allow that there are two at a bargain-making.’ So the brief colloquy, which was only ‘feeling the way’ on the part of both master and man, came to an abrupt conclusion. Oliver returned to the back-shop, taking Jim Hull with him. ‘Sit down, Jim, and make yourself comfortable,’ said Oliver, bringing out a bottle of ale and glasses from the familiar cupboard and taking the second armchair. ‘Now, what about that lad Webster who spoke up for the others?’ ‘He’s a good baker when he likes, which is more than can be said of most of your speechifiers and politicians,’ said Jim. ‘Then he’ll like to bake well for me, or he’ll turn out of the bakehouse,’ said Oliver, holding up his glass to the light. ‘Stop a bit, not so fast,’ said Jim, putting down his glass for a moment, after a testing sip. ‘Your father always kept good ale in cask and in bottle because he gave it time to clear and ripen, so he did. You had better think—if I’m at liberty to speak,’—he paused, and Oliver nodded. ‘You see, I was afraid new men might mean new manners,’ went on Jim, clearing his throat. ‘What I was going to say comes to this, where are you to get a better man to put in Sam Webster’s place? You must consider that, sir, before you speak of dismissing Sam hot and sharp. Good bakers, in a country town in especial, ain’t as plentiful as blackberries, now-a-days, Master Oliver; and if Sam go and stump the neighbourhood—that, and reading, and holding forth on them newspapers is second nature to the fellow—if he tell everywhere what an oonreasonable master young Constable is like to be, why you may have to whistle long enough for a new baker fit to stand in the shoes of Sam, though he do be off and on troublesome.’ ‘You and Sam had better wait and find if I am an unreasonable master,’ said Oliver, with a smile. ‘Who is letting his imagination go ahead, I should like to know? I made no unreasonable stipulation. I did not bid the men do by me what I am not willing to do by them. If I am to be a master baker I shall not feed my customers on husks and worse, Sam Webster and his allies may rest assured of that—and in order that I may be honest in all my dealings, I will have proper work out of my men.’