Page:Sorrell and Son - Deeping - 1926.djvu/93

 his own quietness and his reticences were equally offensive to the other man.

Buck had his own justifications.

"Nasty,—weedy,—supercilious chap. Ex-officer. I'll teach him a thing or two. Jealous of me. Ofcourse. He'll need watching. He's not the sort of man I want under me, no, not by a long chalk. Some big, good-natured chap, quick with the luggage, and not too quick with anything else. Well,—I think I know a thing or two."

At the back of his mind was the wish to get rid of Sorrell. He realized that in spite of the other man's weediness he was a competitor who was to be respected.

In the little room where Sorrell used to clean the boots and brush the clothes there was a window overlooking the garden, and here Sorrell had been in the habit of reading when there was nothing else that needed doing. He had an old Windsor armchair by the window, and Mrs. Marks had given him an old red cushion. She liked Sorrell better than he knew. And through the window he could glance from his book to the old trees, or at the yew hedges beyond the lane, or at the bulbs spearing up in the borders, or at clumps of purple and yellow crocuses.

He was looking out of this window one afternoon, with his book, one of Galsworthy's plays, lying folded over his knee, when he was surprised by a voice.

"You—seem—pretty active—Sorr'l."

That was one of the many petty details that annoyed Sorrell. Buck pronounced his name—abbreviating it—so that it sounded like "saul." He had not heard Buck come to the door. The big man could be very soft on his feet.

"Quite" was all that Sorrell said.

Buck came into the little room, his bulk seeming to fill it. He had the air of a righteous overseer. Seeing the book he reached for it deliberately, and picked it off Sorrell's knee.

"Doing a bit of reading. Well,—this sort of stuff is no—use to a man. Don't you think, my lad, that you might find something better to do?"