Little Chandler felt his cheeks suffused with shame and he stood back out of the lamplight.  He listened while the paroxysm of the child’s sobbing grew less and less; and tears of remorse started to his eyes.

COUNTERPARTS

The bell rang furiously and, when Miss Parker went to the tube, a furious voice called out in a piercing North of Ireland accent: 

“Send Farrington here!”

Miss Parker returned to her machine, saying to a man who was writing at a desk: 

“Mr. Alleyne wants you upstairs.”

The man muttered “Blast him!” under his breath and pushed back his chair to stand up.  When he stood up he was tall and of great bulk.  He had a hanging face, dark wine-coloured, with fair eyebrows and moustache:  his eyes bulged forward slightly and the whites of them were dirty.  He lifted up the counter and, passing by the clients, went out of the office with a heavy step.

He went heavily upstairs until he came to the second landing, where a door bore a brass plate with the inscription Mr. Alleyne.  Here he halted, puffing with labour and vexation, and knocked.  The shrill voice cried: 

“Come in!”

The man entered Mr. Alleyne’s room.  Simultaneously Mr. Alleyne, a little man wearing gold-rimmed glasses on a cleanshaven face, shot his head up over a pile of documents.  The head itself was so pink and hairless it seemed like a large egg reposing on the papers.  Mr. Alleyne did not lose a moment: 

“Farrington?  What is the meaning of this?  Why have I always to complain of you?  May I ask you why you haven’t made a copy of that contract between Bodley and Kirwan?  I told you it must be ready by four o’clock.”

“But Mr. Shelley said, sir——­”

“Mr. Shelley said, sir ....  Kindly attend to what I say and not to what Mr. Shelley says, sir.  You have always some excuse or another for shirking work.  Let me tell you that if the contract is not copied before this evening I’ll lay the matter before Mr. Crosbie....  Do you hear me now?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you hear me now?...  Ay and another little matter!  I might as well be talking to the wall as talking to you.  Understand once for all that you get a half an hour for your lunch and not an hour and a half.  How many courses do you want, I’d like to know....  Do you mind me now?”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Alleyne bent his head again upon his pile of papers.  The man stared fixedly at the polished skull which directed the affairs of Crosbie & Alleyne, gauging its fragility.  A spasm of rage gripped his throat for a few moments and then passed, leaving after it a sharp sensation of thirst.  The man recognised the sensation and felt that he must have a good night’s drinking.  The middle of the month was passed and, if he could get the copy done in time, Mr. Alleyne might give him an order on the cashier.  He stood still, gazing fixedly at the head upon the pile of papers.  Suddenly Mr. Alleyne began to upset all the papers, searching for something.  Then, as if he had been unaware of the man’s presence till that moment, he shot up his head again, saying: