“Then,” said Sir John, with a sudden crispness and severity, “the opinion I have derived from the correspondence is that you were altogether too uppish.  You had got too big for your boots.”

“Sorry that should be your opinion, sir.”

“It is the opinion of my colleague too,” said Sir John sharply.  “The impudence of a little Jack in office.  I’m the king of the castle.”

“I employed no such expression, sir.”

“No, but you couldn’t keep your temper in writing to your superiors, any more than you could in managing the ordinary business of your office.

“Who makes the allegation?” Unconsciously Dale had raised his voice to a high pitch.  “That’s what I ask.  Let’s have facts, not allegations, sir.”

“Or,” said Sir John, calmly and gravely, “any more than you can keep your temper now;” and he leaned back in his chair and looked at Dale with fixed attention.

Dale’s face was red.  He opened and shut his mouth as if taking gulps of air.

Sir John smiled, and continued very quietly and courteously.  “You must forgive me, Mr. Dale, if by my bruskness and apparent lack of consideration I put you to a little test.  But it seemed necessary.  You see, as to Rodhaven, the gravamen of their charge against you—­”

“Charge!” Dale’s voice had dropped to a whisper.  “Do they lodge a charge against me, sir—­in spite of my record?”

“Their report is of course strictly confidential, and it is not perhaps my duty to inform you as to its details.”

“I thought if a person’s accused, he should at least know his indictment, sir.”

Sir John smiled, and nudged the Colonel’s elbow.  “Then, Mr. Dale, it merely amounts to this.  They say you are unquestionably an efficient servant, but that your efficiency—­at any rate, in the position you have held of late—­has been marred by what seem to be faults of temperament.  They believe—­and we believe—­that you honestly try to do your best; but, well, you do not succeed.”

“I’d be glad to know where I’ve failed, sir.  Mr. Ridgett, he said he found everything in apple-pie order.  That was Mr. Ridgett’s very own word.”

“Who is Mr. Ridgett?”

“Your inspector, sir—­what you sent to take over.”

“Ah, yes.  But he no doubt referred to the office itself.  What I am referring to is a much wider question—­the necessity of avoiding friction with the public.  We have to remember that we are the servants of the public, and not its masters.  Now in country districts—­You were at Portsmouth, weren’t you, before you went to Rodchurch?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, of course, in the poorer parts of big towns like Portsmouth, one has rather a rough crowd to deal with; good manners may not be required; a dictatorial method is not so much resented.  But in a country village, in a residential neighborhood, where high and low are accustomed to live in amity—­well, I must say candidly, a postmaster who adopts bullying tactics, and is always losing his temper—­”