It was a fact, and everybody noticed it, that since the removal to the Terrace, and the alteration in their way of living, Mr. Furze was no longer the man he used to be, and seemed to have lost his grasp over his business. To begin with, he was not so much in the shop. His absences in the Terrace at meal-times made a great gap in the day, and Tom Catchpole was constantly left in sole charge. Mr. Bellamy came home one evening and told his wife that he had called at Furze’s to ask the meaning of a letter Furze had signed, explaining the action of a threshing-machine which was out of order. To his astonishment Furze, who was in his counting-house, called for Tom, and said, “Here, Tom, this is one of your letters; you had better tell Mr. Bellamy how the thing works.”

“I held my tongue, Mrs. Bellamy, but I had my thoughts all the same, and the next time I go there, if I go at all, I shall ask for Tom.”

Mr. Furze was aware of Tom’s growing importance, and Mrs. Furze was aware of it too. The worst of it was that Mr. Furze, at any rate, knew that he could not do without him. It is very galling to the master to feel that his power is slipping from him into the hands of a subordinate, and he is apt to assert himself by spasmodic attempts at interference which generally make matters worse and rivet his chains more tightly. There was a small factory in Eastthorpe in which a couple of grindstones were used which were turned by water-power at considerable speed. One of them had broken at a flaw. It had flown to pieces while revolving, and had nearly caused a serious accident. The owner called at Mr. Furze’s to buy another. There were two in stock, one of which he would have taken; but Tom, his master being at the Terrace, strongly recommended his customer not to have that quality, as it was from the same quarry as the one which was faulty, but that another should be ordered. To this he assented. When Mr. Furze returned Tom told him what had happened. He was in an unusually irritable, despotic mood. Mrs. Furze had forced him to yield upon a point which he had foolishly made up his mind not to concede, and consequently he was all the more disposed to avenge his individuality elsewhere. After meditating for a minute or two he called Tom from the counter.

“Mr. Catchpole, what do you mean by taking upon yourself to promise you would obtain another grindstone?”

“Mean, sir! I do not quite understand. The two out there are of the same sort as the one that broke, and I did not think them safe.”

“Think, sir! What business had you to think? I tell you what it is, you are much too fond of thinking. If you would only leave the thinking to me, and do what you are told, it would be much better for you.”

Tom’s first impulse was to make a sharp reply, and to express his willingness to leave, but for certain private reasons he was silent. Encouraged by the apparent absence of resistance, Mr. Furze continued—

“I’ve meant to have a word or two with you several times. You seem to have forgotten your position altogether, and that I am master here, and not you. You, perhaps, do not remember where you came from, and what you would have been if I had not picked you up. Let there be no misunderstanding in future.”

“There shall be none, sir. Shall I call at the factory and explain your wishes about the grindstone? I will tell them I was mistaken, and that they had better have one of those in stock.”

“No, you cannot do that now; let matters remain as they are; I must lose the sale of the stone and put up with it.”

Tom withdrew. That evening, after supper, Mr. Furze, anxious to show his wife that he possessed some power to quell opposition, told her what had happened. It met with her entire approval. She hated Tom. For all hatred, as well as for all love, there is doubtless a reason, but the reasons for the hatreds of a woman of Mrs. Furze’s stamp are often obscure, and perhaps more nearly an exception than any other known fact in nature to the rule that every effect must have a cause.

“I would get rid of him,” said she. “I think that his not replying to you is ten times more aggravating than if he had gone into a passion.”

“You cannot get rid of him,” said Catharine.

“Cannot! What do you mean, Catharine—cannot? I like that! Do you suppose that I do not understand my own business—I who took him up out of the gutter and taught him? Cannot, indeed!”

“Of course you can get rid of him, father; but I would not advise you to try it.”

“Now, do take my advice,” said Mrs. Furze: “send him about his business, at once, before he does any further mischief, and gets hold of your connection. Promise me.”

“I will,” said Mr. Furze, “to-morrow morning, the very first thing.”

Morning came, and Mr. Furze was not quite so confident. Mrs. Furze had not relented, and as her husband went out at the door she reminded him of his vow.

“You will, now? I shall expect to hear when you come home that he has had notice.”

“Oh, certainly he shall go, but I am doubtful whether I had better not wait till I have somebody in my eye whom I can put in his place.”

“Nonsense! you can find somebody easily enough.”

Mr. Furze strode into his shop looking and feeling very important. Instead of the usual kindly “Good morning,” he nodded almost imperceptibly and marched straight into his counting-house. It had been his habit to call Tom in there and open the letters with him, Tom suggesting a course of action and replies. To-day he opened his correspondence in silence. It happened to be unusually bulky for a small business, and unusually important. The Honourable Mr. Eaton was about to make some important alterations in his house and grounds. New conservatories were to be built, and an elaborate system of hot-water warming apparatus was to be put up both for house and garden. He had invited tenders to specification from three houses—one in London, one in Cambridge, and from Mr. Furze. Tom and Mr. Furze had gone over the specification carefully, but Tom had preceded and originated, and Mr. Furze had followed, and, in order not to appear slow of comprehension, had frequently assented when he did not understand—a most dangerous weakness. To his surprise he found that his tender of £850 was accepted. There was much work to be done which was not in his line, but had been put into his contract in order to save subdivision, and consequently arrangements had to be made with sub-contractors. Materials had also to be provided at once, and there was a penalty of so much a day if the job was not completed by a certain time. He did not know exactly where to begin; he was stunned, as if somebody had hit him a blow on the head, and, after trying in vain to think, he felt that his brain was in knots. He put the thing aside; looked at his other letters, and they were worse. One of his creditors, a blacksmith, who owed him £55 for iron, had failed, and he was asked to attend a meeting of creditors. A Staffordshire firm, upon whom he had depended for pipes, in case he should obtain Mr. Eaton’s order, had sent a circular announcing an advance in iron, and he forgot that in their offer their price held good for another week. He was trustee under an old trust, upon which no action had been taken for years; he remembered none of its provisions, and now the solicitors had written to him requesting him to be present at a most important conference in London that day week. There was also a notice from the Navigation Commissioners informing him that, in consequence of an accident at one of their locks, it would be fully a fortnight before any barge could pass through, and he knew that his supply of smithery coal would be exhausted before that date, as he had refrained from purchasing in consequence of high prices. To crown everything a tap came at the door, and in walked his chief man at the foundry to announce that he would shortly leave, as he had obtained a better berth. Mr. Furze by this time was so confused that he said nothing but “Very well,” and when the man had gone he leaned his head on his elbows in despair. He looked through the glass window of the counting-house and saw Tom quietly weighing some nails. He would have given anything if he could have called him in, but he could not. As to dismissing him, it was out of the question now, and yet his sense of dependence on him excited a jealousy nearly as intense as his wife’s animosity. When a man cannot submit to be helped he dislikes the benevolent friend who offers assistance worse than an avowed enemy. Mr. Furze felt as if he must at once request Tom’s aid, and at the same time do him some grievous bodily harm.

The morning passed away and nothing was advanced one single step. He went home to his dinner excited, and he was dangerous. It is very trying, when we are in a coil of difficulty, out of which we see no way of escape, to hear some silly thing suggested by an outsider who perhaps has not spent five minutes in considering the case. Mrs. Furze, knowing nothing of Mr. Eaton’s contract, of the blacksmith’s failure, of the advance in iron, of the trust meeting, of the stoppage of the navigation, and of the departure of the foundryman, asked her husband the moment the servant had brought in the dinner and had left the room—

“Well, my dear, what did Tom say when you told him to go?”

“I haven’t told him.”

“Not told him, my dear! how is that?”

“I wish with all my heart you’d mind your own affairs.”

“Mr. Furze! what is the matter? You do not seem to know what you are saying.”

“I know perfectly well what I am saying. I wish you knew what you are saying. When we came up here to the Terrace—much good has it done us—I thought I should have no interference with my business. You understand nothing whatever about it, and I shall take it as a favour if you will leave it alone.”

Mrs. Furze was aghast. Presently she took out her pocket-handkerchief and retreated to her bedroom. Mr. Furze did not follow her, but his dinner remained untouched. When he rose to leave, Catharine went after him to the door, caught hold of his hand and silently kissed him, but he did not respond.

During the dinner-hour Tom had looked in the counting-house and saw the letters lying on the table untouched. Mr. Eaton’s steward came in with congratulations that the tender was accepted, but he could not wait. As Mr. Furze passed through the shop Tom told him simply that the steward had called.

“What did he want?”

“I do not know, sir.”

Mr. Furze went to his papers again and shut the door. He was still more incapable of collecting his thoughts and of determining how to begin. First of all came the contract, but before he could settle a single step the navigation presented itself. Then, without any progress, came the rise in the price of iron, and so forth. In about three hours the post would be going, and nothing was done. He cast about for some opportunity of a renewal of intercourse with Tom, and looked anxiously through his window, hoping that Tom might have some question to ask. At last he could stand it no longer, and he opened the door and called out—

“Mr. Catchpole”—not the familiar “Tom.” Mr. Catchpole presented himself.

“I wish to give you some instructions about these letters. I have arranged them in order. You will please write what I say, and I will sign in time for the post to-night. First of all there is the contract. You had better take the necessary action and ask the Staffordshire people what advance they want.”

“Yes, sir, but”—deferentially—“the Staffordshire people cannot claim an advance if you accept at once: you remember the condition?”

“Certainly; what I mean is that you can accept their tender. Then there is the meeting of creditors.”

“I suppose you wish Mr. Eaton’s acceptance acknowledged and the sub-contractors at once informed?”

“Of course, of course; I said necessary action—that covers everything. With regard to the creditors’ meeting, my proposal is—”

A pause.

“Perhaps it will be as well, sir, if you merely say you will attend.”

“I thought you would take that for granted. I was considering what proposal I should make when we meet.”

“Probably, sir, you can make it better after you hear his statement.”

“Well, possibly it may be so; but I am always in favour of being prepared. However, we will postpone that for the present. Then there is the trustee business. That is a private matter of my own, which you will not understand. I will give you the papers, however, and you can make an abstract of them. I cannot carry every point in my head. If you are in any doubt come to me.”

“You wish me to say you will go, sir?”

“I should have thought there was no need to ask. You surely do not suppose that I am to give instructions upon every petty detail! Then about the navigation: I must have some coal, and that is the long and the short of it.”

The “how” was probably a petty detail, for Mr. Furze went no further with the subject, and was inclined to proceed with the man at the foundry.

“It will be too late if we wait till the lock is repaired, sir. I understand it will be three weeks really. Will you write to Ditchfield and tell them five tons are to come to Millfield Sluice? We will then cart it from there. That will be the cheapest and the best way.”

“Yes, I do not object; but we must have the coal—that is really the important point. As to Jack in the foundry, I will get somebody else. I suppose we shall have to pay more.”

“How would it be, sir, if you put Sims in Jack’s place, and Spurling in Sims’ place? You would then only want a new labourer, and you would pay no more than you pay now. Sims, too, knows the work, and it might be awkward to have a new man at the head just now.”

“Yes, that may do; but what I wish to impress on you is that the vacancy must be filled up. That is all, I think; you can take the letters.”

Tom took them up and went to his little corner near the window to reperuse them. There was much to be done which had not been mentioned, particularly with regard to Mr. Eaton’s contract. He took out the specification, jotted down on a piece of paper the several items, marked methodically with a cross those which required prompt attention, and began to write. Mr. Furze, seeing his desk unencumbered, was very well satisfied with himself. He had “managed” the whole thing perfectly. His head became clear, the knots were untied, and he hummed a few bars of a hymn. He then went to his safe, took out the trust papers without looking at them, handed them over to Tom with a remark that he should like the abstract the next morning, and at once went up to the Terrace. He was hungry: he had left Mrs. Furze unwell, and, in his extreme good-humour, had relented towards her. She had recovered, but did not mention again the subject of Tom’s discharge. He had ham with his tea, but it was over sooner than usual, and he rose to depart.

“You are going early, father,” said Catharine.

“Yes, my dear; it has been a busy day. I have been successful with my tender for Mr. Eaton’s improvements; iron has advanced; the navigation has stopped; Castle, the blacksmith, has gone to smash; I have to go to a trustees’ meeting under that old Fothergill trust; and Jack in the foundry has given notice to leave.”

“When did you hear all this?”

“All within an hour after breakfast. I have been entirely occupied this afternoon in directing Tom what to do, and I must be off to see that he has carried out my instructions. What a coil it is! and yet I rather like it.”

Catharine reflected that her father did not seem to like it at dinner-time, and went through the familiar operation of putting two and two together. She accompanied him to the front gate, and as he passed out she said—

“You have not given Tom notice?”

“No, my dear, not yet. It would be a little inconvenient at present. I could do without him easily, even now; but perhaps it will be better to wait. Besides, he is a little more teachable after the talking-to I have given him.”

Mr. Furze signed his letters. He did not observe that many others, of which he had not thought, remained to be written, and when Tom brought them the next day he made no remark. The assumption was that he had noticed the day before what remained to be done, saw that it was not urgent, and consented to the delay. The curious thing was that he assumed it to himself. It is a tact—not incredible to those who know that nobody, not the most accomplished master in flattery, can humbug us so completely as we can and do humbug ourselves—that Mr. Furze, ten minutes after the letters were posted, was perfectly convinced that he had foreseen the necessity of each one—that he had personally and thoroughly controlled the whole day’s operations, and that Tom had performed the duties of a merely menial clerk. As he went home he thought over Catharine’s attitude with regard to Tom. She, in reality, had been anxious to protect her father; but such a motive he could not be expected to suggest to himself. A horrid notion came into his head. She might be fond of Tom! Did she not once save his life? Had she not, even when a child, pleaded that something ought to be done for him? Had she not affirmed that he was indispensable? Had she not inquired again about him that very day? Had she not openly expressed her contempt for that most eligible person, Mr. Colston? He determined to watch most strictly, and again he resolved to dismiss his assistant. A trifling increase in his attention to small matters should enable him to do this within a month or two. It would be as well for Mrs. Furze to watch too. After supper Catharine went to bed early, and her father hung out the white flag, to which friendly response was given directly the subject of his communications was apparent. It became a basis of almost instantaneous reconciliation, and Mrs. Furze, mindful of the repulse of the brewer’s son and the ruin of her own scheme thereon built, hated Tom more than ever. It was Tom, then, who had prevented admission into Eastthorpe society.