rvative and was very patriotic.

At the time when the Boer War commenced, Linden was an enthusiastic
jingo: his enthusiasm had been somewhat damped when his youngest son, a
reservist, had to go to the front, where he died of fever and exposure.
When this soldier son went away, he left his wife and two children,
aged respectively four and five years at that time, in his father's
care. After he died they stayed on with the old people. The young
woman earned a little occasionally by doing needlework, but was really
dependent on her father-in-law. Notwithstanding his poverty, he was
glad to have them in the house, because of late years his wife had been
getting very feeble, and, since the shock occasioned by the news of the
death of her son, needed someone constantly with her.

Linden was still working at the vestibule doors when the manager came
downstairs. Misery stood watching him for some minutes without
speaking. At last he said loudly:

'How much longer are you going to be messing about those doors? Why
don't you get them under colour? You were fooling about there when I
was here this morning. Do you think it'll pay to have you playing
about there hour after hour with a bit of pumice stone? Get the work
done! Or if you don't want to, I'll very soon find someone else who
does! I've been noticing your style of doing things for some time past
and I want you to understand that you can't play the fool with me.
There's plenty of better men than you walking about. If you can't do
more than you've been doing lately you can clear out; we can do without
you even when we're busy.'

Old Jack trembled. He tried to answer, but was unable to speak. If he
had been a slave and had failed to satisfy his master, the latter might
have tied him up somewhere and thrashed him. Hunter could not do that;
he could only take his food away. Old Jack was frightened--it was not
only HIS food that might be taken away. At last, with a great effort,
for the words seemed to stick in his throat, he said:

'I must clean the work down, sir, before I go on painting.'

'I'm not talking about what you're doing, but the time it takes you to
do it!' shouted Hunter. 'And I don't want any back answers or argument
about it. You must move yourself a bit quicker or leave it alone
altogether.'

Linden did not answer: he went on with his work, his hand trembling to
such an extent that he was scarcely able to hold the pumice stone.

Hunter