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And our Rector's wife, Mrs. Farmiloe, she gave me a silver thimble when I was nine a prize for needlework. Lady Frances used to say, 'Don't you keep her too close to work, Mrs. Horridge.
If this was the sort of work he was engaged for he must have higher wages; he wasn't over strong and his mother said he must lead an open-air life that was why he had taken the place. To be bearded thus in his own shop was too much for Mr. Farmiloe, he seized the opportunity of giving his wrath full swing, and burst into a frenzy of vilification.
Farmiloe had engaged a very cheap general servant, who involved him in dirt and discomfort. It was a matter of talk among the neighbouring tradesmen that the chemist lived in a beggarly fashion. When the dismissed errand-boy spread the story of how he had been used, people jumped to the conclusion that Mr. Farmiloe drank.
This, he had to hear, was emphatically unbusinesslike, and, in brief, would not do. 'It shall not occur again, sir, mumbled the unhappy man. 'But, if you consider my position 'Mr. Farmiloe, allow me to tell you that this is a matter for your own consideration, and no one else's. 'True, sir, quite true. Still, when you come to think of it I assure you
'The only assurance I want is that the business of the post-office will be properly attended to, and that assurance I must have. I shall probably call again before long. Good morning. It was always with a savage satisfaction that Mr. Farmiloe heard the clock strike eight on Saturday evening. His shop remained open till ten, but at eight came the end of the post-office business.
Farmiloe, a victim of destiny, could do nothing so reasonable. Heedless of the fact that his shop remained unguarded, he seized his hat and rushed after the errand-boy. If he could only have a sniff at the mixture it would either confirm his fear or set his mind at rest. He tore along the road and was too late. The boy met him, having just completed his errand.
His predecessor, beyond a doubt, would have taken very much less; had, indeed, been on the point of doing so just when Mr. Farmiloe appeared. This kind of experience is a trial to any man. It threw Mr. Farmiloe into a silent rage, with the result that two or three customers who chanced to enter his shop declared that they would never have anything more to do with such a surly creature.
Farmiloe could have shed tears in his mortification, and for some minutes he stood looking at a bottle of laudanum, wishing he had the courage to have done with life. Plainly he could not live very long unless things improved. His ready money was coming to an end, rents and taxes loomed before him. An awful thought of bankruptcy haunted him in the early morning hours.
'You will oblige me by minding your own business. Your remark is the merest impertinence. That packet consists of MS., and will, therefore, go at book rate. Be so good as to weigh it at once. Mr. Farmiloe lost all control of himself, and well-nigh screamed. 'No, madam, I will not weigh it. And let me inform you, as you are so ignorant, that to weigh packets is not part of my duty.
Farmiloe entered into negotiation with the postal authorities; and it was with some little disappointment that he learnt how very modest could be his direct remuneration for the responsibilities and labours he undertook. The Post-Office is a very shrewdly managed department of the public service; it has brought to perfection the art of obtaining maximum results with a minimum expenditure. But Mr.
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