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Updated: May 28, 2025
Partly from a vague desire to keep in with the Fineberg clan, but principally because it struck him as rather a doggish thing to do, Roland had passed over the ten shillings; and there, as far as he had known, the matter had ended. And now, after all this time, that simple action had borne fruit in the shape of Gelatine and a check for five hundred pounds. Roland's next emotion was triumph.
Fineberg returned with a lighter heart to the great clover-seed problem. The circumstances which had led Roland to approach his employer may be briefly recounted. Since joining the staff of Mr. Fineberg, he had lodged at the house of a Mr. Coppin, in honorable employment as porter at the local railway-station. The Coppin family, excluding domestic pets, consisted of Mr.
Fineberg, at the word, drew himself together much as a British square at Waterloo must have drawn itself together at the sight of a squadron of cuirassiers. "Salary?" he cried. "What about it? What's the matter with it? You get it, don't you?" "Yes, sir, but " "Well? Don't stand there like an idiot. What is it?" "It's too much." Mr. Fineberg's brain reeled.
Out of the chaos, as he stood looking at them with his mouth open, came the word "bans," and smote him like a blast of East wind. It is not necessary to trace in detail Roland's mental processes from that moment till the day when he applied to Mr. Fineberg for a reduction of salary. It is enough to say that for quite a month he was extraordinarily happy.
There was a general stir of interest as he entered the room, for it was known that he had left that morning with the intention of approaching Mr. Fineberg on the important matter of a rise in salary. Mr. Coppin removed his saucer of tea from his lips. Frank brushed the tail of a sardine from the corner of his mouth. Percy ate his haddock in an undertone.
This was the problem which was furrowing the brow of Mr. Julian Fineberg, of Bury St. Edwards, one sunny morning when Roland Bleke knocked at his door; and such was its difficulty that only at the nineteenth knock did Mr. Fineberg raise his head.
Fineberg for one instant that his subordinate was endeavoring to be humorous, but a glance at Roland's face dispelled that idea. "Why do you want it reduced?" "Please, sir, I'm going to be married." "What the deuce do you mean?" "When my salary reaches a hundred and fifty, sir. And it's a hundred and forty now, so if you could see your way to knocking off ten pounds " Mr. Fineberg saw light.
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