|Title||The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists|
speak. He wondered why Hunter had sneaked off and felt inclined to open the door and call him back. One thing he was determined about: he meant to have some explanation: he would not submit tamely to be dismissed without any just reason.
When he had finished reading the letter, Rushton looked up, and, leaning comfortably back in his chair, he blew a cloud of smoke from his cigar, and said in an affable, indulgent tone, such as one might use to a child:
`You're a bit of a hartist, ain't yer?'
Owen was so surprised at this reception that he was for the moment unable to reply.
`You know what I mean,' continued Rushton; `decorating work, something like them samples of yours what's hanging up there.'
He noticed the embarrassment of Owen's manner, and was gratified. He thought the man was confused at being spoken to by such a superior