William, it seemed, had got another job already.
"At how much a week?" Habit was so strong, there was no concealing the sneer in the tone of surprised inquiry.
Three pounds a week was to be William's salary. The old man could only gasp. It brought home to him, as perhaps nothing else could have done, the real worth of the treasure he was about to lose. It was four times the rate at which he had thought well to reward these priceless services.
"Who is being fool enough to give you that money?" he sneered, the ruling passion still strong in him.
"Mr. Hutton, sir, at the top of the street," was the mournful answer.
S. Gedge Antiques dug a savage tooth in his lower lip. Joseph Hutton was a young and "pushful" rival whom on instinct he hated. "Fellow's a fool to go spoiling the market," he snarled.
Alas, the old man knew but too well that as far as William was concerned, it was not at all a question of spoiling the market. That aspect of the matter would never arise in his mind.
