CHAPTER XI

It was a fact, and everybody noticed it, that since the removal to the
Terrace, and the alteration in their way of living, Mr. Furze was no
longer the man he used to be, and seemed to have lost his grasp over his
business. To begin with, he was not so much in the shop. His absences
in the Terrace at meal-times made a great gap in the day, and Tom
Catchpole was constantly left in sole charge. Mr. Bellamy came home one
evening and told his wife that he had called at Furze's to ask the
meaning of a letter Furze had signed, explaining the action of a
threshing-machine which was out of order. To his astonishment Furze, who
was in his counting-house, called for Tom, and said, "Here, Tom, this is
one of your letters; you had better tell Mr. Bellamy how the thing
works."

"I held my tongue, Mrs. Bellamy, but I had my thoughts all the same, and
the next time I go there, _if_ I go at all, I shall ask for Tom."

Mr. Furze was aware of Tom's growing importance, and Mrs. Furze was aware
of it too. The worst of it was that Mr. Furze, at any rate, knew that he
could not do without him. It is very galling to the master to feel that
his power is slipping from him into the hands of a subordinate, and he is
apt to assert himself by spasmodic attempts at interference which
generally make matters worse and rivet his chains more tightly. There
was a small factory in Eastthorpe in which a couple of grindstones were
used which were turned by water-power at considerable speed. One of them
had broken at a flaw. It had flown to pieces while revolving, and had
nearly caused a serious accident. The owner called at Mr. Furze's to buy
another. There were two in stock, one of which he would have taken; but
Tom, his master being at the Terrace, strongly recommended his customer
not to have that quality, as it was from the same quarry as the one which
was faulty, but that another should be ordered. To this he assented.
When Mr. Furze returned Tom told him what had happened. He was in an
unusually irritable, despotic mood. Mrs. Furze had forced him to yield
upon a point which he had foolishly made up his mind not to concede, and
consequently he was all the more disposed to avenge his individuality
elsewhere. After meditating for a minute or two he called Tom from the
counter.

"Mr. Catchpole, what do you mean by taking upon yourself to promise you
would obtain another grindstone?"

"Mean, sir! I do not quite under