of Messrs. Smith and Joyce, leather merchants, Bermondsey Street, the firm for which he had been working during the last two years. Mr. Smith frowned at him from behind a stack of leather. [Pg 21] “You’re late this morning, Pratt,” he growled. “I thought perhaps you had gone over to see that man at Tottenham.” “The man at Tottenham,” Jacob remarked equably, “can go to hell.” Mr. Smith was a short, thin man with a cynical expression, a bloodless face and a loveless heart. He opened his mouth a little, a habit of his when surprised. “I suppose it is too early in the morning to suggest that you have been drinking,” he said. “You are right,” Jacob acknowledged. “A little later in the day I shall be able to satisfy everybody in that respect.” Mr. Smith came out from behind the stack of leather. He was wearing a linen smock over his clothes and paper protectors over his cuffs. “I don’t think you’re quite yourself this morning, Pratt,” he observed acidly. “I am not,” Jacob answered. “I have had good news.” Mr. Smith was a farseeing man, with a brain which [Pg 22]worked quickly. He remembered in a moment the cause of Jacob’s failure. Oil might be found at any time! [Pg 22] “I am very glad to hear it, Pratt,” he said. “Would you like to come into the office and have a little chat?” Jacob looked his employer squarely in the face. “Never so long as I live,” he replied. “Just the few words I want to say to you, Mr. Smith, can be said here. You gave me a job when I was down and out. You gave it to me not out of pity but because you knew I was a damned good traveller. I’ve trudged the streets for you, ridden in tram-cars, ’buses and tubes, sold your leather honestly and carefully for two years. I’ve doubled your turnover; I’ve introduced you to the soundest connection you ever had on your books. Each Christmas a clerk in the counting house has handed me an extra sovereign—to buy sweets with, I suppose! You’ve never raised my salary, you’ve never uttered a word of thanks. I’ve brought you in three of the biggest contracts
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