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Updated: June 12, 2025
He thought of what those days had been to others beside himself. And he thought: "Supposing after all the kid doesn't come through?" After having been to business and breakfasted as usual, Edwin returned to the shop at ten o'clock. He did not feel tired, but his manner was very curt, even with Stifford, and melancholy had taken the place of his joy.
"It's being talked about a great deal," said Janet as if to encourage him. "Yes, it is... No, I'm very sorry, we haven't it in stock." Stifford faced her again, and leaned his hands wide apart on the counter. "I should like you to order it for me," said Janet Orgreave in a low voice. She asked this exactly as though she were asking a personal favour from Stifford the private individual.
Two hours earlier he had called for a few moments at the shop, and even then, ere Edwin had spoken, Stifford's face showed that he knew something sinister had occurred. With a few words of instruction to Stifford, he now went through towards the workshops to speak with Big James about the Bostock order. All the workmen and apprentices were self-conscious.
After this he gave a little laugh, which meant nothing, certainly not amusement; it was merely a gawky habit that he had unconsciously adopted. Then he took his handkerchief out of his pocket and put it back again. Stifford fell back and had to pretend that nothing interested him less than the interview which he had precipitated. "How d'you do, Mr Clayhanger?" said Janet. They shook hands.
None but males were now employed in the Clayhanger business, and everybody breathed more freely; round, sound oaths were heard where never oaths had been heard before. The young man's name was Stifford, and he was addressed as `Stiff. He was a proof of the indiscretion of prophesying about human nature.
Edwin handled, and kept, all the books save that. At the beginning of the previous week he and Stifford had achieved the task of sending out the quarterly accounts, and of one sort or another there were some seven hundred quarterly accounts.
A chair wrong side up was on the fancy-counter, its back hanging over the front of the counter. Hilda had wandered behind the other counter, and Edwin was in the middle of the shop. Her face in the twilight had become more mysterious than ever. He was in a state of emotion, but he did not know to what category the emotion belonged. They were alone. Stifford had gone for the half-holiday.
The new suit had caused Edwin to look at everybody's clothes, had caused him to walk differently, and to put his shoulders back, and to change the style of his collars; had made a different man of Edwin. "Come in, will you?" Edwin suggested. They went into the shop together. Stifford smiled at them both, as if to felicitate them on the chance which had brought them together.
They made fun of nearly every body, but it was not mean fun. Such, and not "The Light of Asia," was the cause of Janet's visit. Be it said to Edwin's shame that she would have got no further with the family plot that morning, had it not been for the chivalry of Stifford.
Darius himself added up the few lines on the incomplete page. "Stiff;" he shouted, "bring me the sales-slip." The amounts of sales conducted by Stifford himself were written on a slip of paper from which Edwin transferred the items at frequent intervals to the book. "Go to yer dinner," said Darius to Stifford, when he appeared at the door of the cubicle with the slip.
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