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Updated: June 15, 2025
He reached for Sabre's hand again and again gripped it hard. Sabre went back and sat against his desk. "What rather got me, you know, coming all of a sudden like that, was that Fortune promised me partnership, twice, quite a bit ago." Twyning, who had been speaking with an emotion in consonance with the grip of his hand, said a little blankly, "Did he? That so?" "Yes, twice.
The upshot of it was that Twyning, speaking for the firm, and calling him about a thousand old mans and that sort of slush, told him that the position would be reconsidered when he ceased to have the girl in his house and that, in the interests of the firm, until he did that he must cease to attend the office.
Twyning took the hand and gripped it with a firmness characteristic of his handshake. "Thanks, old man. Thanks awfully. Of course I know what you mean. But after all, look at the thing, eh? I mean to say, you've been here what ten or twelve years. Well, I've been over twenty-five. Natural, eh? And you're doing splendidly. Every one knows that. It's only a question of time. Thanks awfully."
He gave the young man his hand. "Why, that's very nice," he said. "I thought I knew your face. I think I've seen you with your father. You've been in Blade and Parson's place, haven't you?" Young Twyning replied that he had. He had his father's rather quick and stiff manner of speaking.
There was old Bright, the girl's father, smouldering like inside the door of a banked-up furnace; smouldering like if you touched him he'd burst out into roaring flame and sparks. There was Mr. Iscariot Twyning with his face like a stab in the back and his mouth on his face like a scar.
Twyning seemed really concerned. The puckers on his face had visibly deepened. He used a stubborn tone. "Well, you know what people are. You know how damned touchy those Scotchmen are. I mean to say, if we put out a book like that, the Scotch " Sabre smote the desk. This kind of thing from Twyning made him furious, and he particularly was not in the mood for it this morning.
In its obvious aspect it was also related to the "Why aren't you in khaki?" question; Sabre apprehended in it a different bearing. One morning he stepped suddenly from his own room into Mr. Fortune's in quest of a reference. Twyning and Mr. Fortune were seated together in deep conversation. They were very often thus seated, Sabre had noticed.
Well, it was only what he had expected; a trifle pronounced, perhaps, but the obvious sequel to their latter-day manner towards him: they had wanted to get him out; he was out and they desired to keep him out. He rose to go. "Oh, that's all right. I'm not going to keep you. I only called in to show off my officer's uniform." Twyning said, "Yes, congratulations again, old man." He laughed.
The whale-like front gave a sudden leap and quiver precisely as if it had been struck by a cricket ball. Mr. Fortune's voice hardened very remarkably. "As to that, I will permit myself two remarks. In the first place, I consider it highly reprehensible of Twyning to have communicated this to you " Sabre broke in. "Well, he didn't. I'd like you to be quite clear on that point, if you don't mind.
He smiled and breathed strongly through his nose, as if tensing himself against some emergency that might arise. Sabre said, "Yes, well done, Twyning. Of course he promised you this long ago." "Yes, didn't he? Glad you remember my telling you. Of course it won't make the least difference to you, old man. What I mean is, if anything I hope I shall be able to give you a leg up in all sorts of ways.
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