Baldwin, too broken already on the wheel of fortune to suffer any further pain from the hard blow he received, left the Court an undischarged bankrupt, and Inman by arrangement with the Official Receiver, obtained the goodwill of the business at a merely nominal figure, and the goodwill of the unsecured creditors for nothing at all.
It was the afternoon of Christmas Eve before the last formality was completed that left Inman master of the wrecked ship, and he hurried home to deal promptly with his predecessor.
The evening meal was being cleared away when he got down from the trap in which he had been driven from the station and strode into the kitchen. Nancy rose in order to brew some fresh tea, and he recognised her purpose.
“Sit still, Nancy,” he said. There was a changed note in his voice that only Baldwin failed to recognise. “Keturah’ll have to work for her living if she stops on here, and there’s no need for my wife to bark if we keep a dog. Get up, Keturah, and mash my tea.”
“I’ll make it myself, James,” said Nancy, as Keturah seemed paralysed by this unexpected attack; but Inman bade her be seated.
“Keturah’ll either do as she’s told,” he said, with an ugly look about his mouth and an ominous glitter in his eyes; “or she’ll find fresh lodgings along with her brother. Baldwin leaves here to-night, and I’m not very particular if Keturah goes with him—they’ve both eaten the bread o’ idleness long enough at my expense. You needn’t open your mouth, Nancy,” he went on with a rough composure that was more discomfiting than anger. “I’m master here, and master I’m going to be. Keturah can stop, I say, if she likes, and I’ll pay her wages; but she stops as servant. There’ll be no more whining and crying about ‘fine ladies’—I’ll see to that. Baldwin finds fresh quarters and finds ’em to-night. I’ve no use for him.”
Keturah’s apron was over her face by this time, but harsh words and hard looks put new spirit into Baldwin, who for the first time in all these weeks rose to his feet in a passion and called to his help the oaths he had neglected in his dejection.
It was to no purpose. Inman pushed him from him with a rough touch that was almost a blow.
“Carry your dirty talk outside, you hound!” he said. Then with a sneer that disfigured his face, he added: “I’ve taken over your motto with the business, Baldwin—‘all for my-sen.’ Both the motto and the business are good, but they’ve got to be worked with gumption, d’you see? And they’re going to be. You’re in my way now, and you’ve got to get out. I’m going to do by you what you’d ha’ done by me. Does that get past your thick skull?”