Mr Fips appeared to have some little difficulty in resuming the
conversation. To relieve himself, he took up the wafer-stamp, and began
stamping capital F's all over his legs.
'The fact is,' said Mr Fips, 'that my friend is not, at this present
moment, in town.'
Tom's countenance fell; for he thought this equivalent to telling him
that his appearance did not answer; and that Fips must look out for
somebody else.
'When do you think he will be in town, sir?' he asked.
'I can't say; it's impossible to tell. I really have no idea. But,' said
Fips, taking off a very deep impression of the wafer-stamp upon the calf
of his left leg, and looking steadily at Tom, 'I don't know that it's a
matter of much consequence.'
Poor Tom inclined his head deferentially, but appeared to doubt that.
'I say,' repeated Mr Fips, 'that I don't know it's a matter of much
consequence. The business lies entirely between yourself and me, Mr
Pinch. With reference to your duties, I can set you going; and with
reference to your salary, I can pay it. Weekly,' said Mr Fips, putting
down the wafer-stamp, and looking at John Westlock and Tom Pinch by
turns, 'weekly; in this office; at any time between the hours of four
and five o'clock in the afternoon.
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