ve done, sir, until you listened to
me."

"You refuse to write the letter?"

"I humbly beg you, sir, not to ask me to write it."

"But I do ask you to write it."

Mr. Benny thrust both hands nervously beneath his coat-tails, walked to
the window and stood for a second or two, staring out upon the garden.
His cheeks were flushed. He had arrived at one of those moments in life
which prove a man; but of heroism he was not conscious at all.

"I am very sorry, Mr. Samuel," said he, turning again to the table.
"If your father had told me to write such a letter, I should have used an
old servant's liberty and warned him that he was acting unjustly.
Though it made him angry, he would have understood. But I see, sir, that
I have no right to argue with you; and so let us have no more words.
I cannot write what you wish."

"My father," answered Mr. Sam, wagging a finger at him, "tolerated many
things I do not propose to tolerate. He suffered this old dotard to annoy
the public, though long past work. I am not surprised to learn that he
suffered you to forget your place."

Mr. Benny gathered up his papers without answering.

"Look here, Benny," Mr. Sam resumed, after watching him for a while,
"I don't wish to be hard on you; I only require obedience. It's a bit
foolish of you--eh?--to be quarrelling with your bread and butter."

"May be, sir."

"If you leave me, I wish it to be understood that 'tis by your own
choice."

The little man met his master's eyes now with a look of something like
contempt. "If that salves your conscience, sir, by all means have it so.
But if 'tis to be plain truth between us, you want a younger clerk."

"Did I ever complain of your incompetence?"

"My incompetence, sir? 'Tis my competence you surely mean? I reckon no
man can be sure of being a good servant till he has learnt to advise for
his master's good against his master's will."

"What's the matter with 'ee, Peter?" asked Nicky Vro as he rowed Mr. Benny
across the ferry at dinnertime. "You're looking as downcast as a gib
cat."

"I was wondering," answered Mr. Benny gently, "how many times we two have
crossed this ferry together."

Nicky Vro pondered. "Now that's the sort o' question I leave alone o' set
purpose, and I'll tell 'ee for why. One night, years ago, and just as we
was off to bed, my poor wife says to me, 'I wonder how many times you've
crossed the ferry, first and last.' 'Hundreds and thousands,' I says,