"If you can give me three days off, sir," said Big James, in the
majestic humility of his apron, "I shall take it kindly."
Edwin had gone into the composing room with the copy for a demy poster,
consisting of four red words to inform the public that the true friend
of the public was `romping in.' A hundred posters were required within
an hour. He had nearly refused the order, in his feverish fatigue and
his disgust, but some remnant of sagacity had asserted itself in him and
saved him from this fatuity.
"Why?" he asked roughly. "What's up now, James?"
"My old comrade Abraham Harracles is dead, sir, at Glasgow, and I'm
wishful for to attend the interment, far as it is. He was living with
his daughter, and she's written to me. If you could make it convenient
to spare me--"
"Of course, of course!" Edwin interrupted him hastily. In his present
mood, it revolted him that a man of between fifty and sixty should be
humbly asking as a favour to be allowed to fulfil a pious duty.
"I'm very much obliged to you, sir," said Big James simply, quite
unaware that captious Edwin found his gratitude excessive and servile.
"I'm the last now, sir, of the old glee-party," he added.
"Really!"