Whereat he rolled about
on his bed and bit his fingers. He never stopped to think whether, if he had
met Mrs. Hatt after those two years, he would have discovered that he and she
had grown quite different and new persons. This, theoretically, he ought to
have done. He spent the night after the English Mail came in rather severe
pain.
Next morning, Dicky Hatt felt disinclined to work. He argued that he had missed
the pleasure of youth. He was tired, and he had tasted all the sorrow in life
before three-and-twenty. His Honor was gone--that was the man; and now he, too,
would go to the Devil--that was the boy in him. So he put his head down on the
green oil-cloth table-cover, and wept before resigning his post, and all it
offered.
But the reward of his services came. He was given three days to reconsider
himself, and the Head of the establishment, after some telegraphings, said that
it was a most unusual step, but, in view of the ability that Mr. Hatt had
displayed at such and such a time, at such and such junctures, he was in a
position to offer him an infinitely superior post--first on probation, and
later, in the natural course of things, on confirmation. "And how much does the
post carry?" said Dicky. "Six hundred and fifty rupees," said the Head slowly,
expecting to see the young man sink with gratitude and joy.
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