He drew the
bolts, impelled Iscariot outward, and essayed to close the door.
Mr. Fletcher clutched the handle. Mr. Marrapit pushed; hissed through
the crack: "Away! Search every nook. Penetrate each fastness. Use
stealth. Track, trace, follow!"
Discarding entreaty, Mr. Fletcher put hoarse protest through the slit
of aperture that remained: "I should like to ast if I was engaged for
this, Mr. Marrapit," he panted. "I'm a gardener, I am--"
"I recognise that. To your department. With your life forefend it."
Mr. Marrapit fetched the door against the lintel; in the brief moment
he could hold it close slid the lock.
VIII.
No tremor of fear or of excitement ruffled this remarkable man. Calm
in the breezes of life he was calm also in its tempests. This is a
natural corollary. As a man faces the smaller matters of his life so
he will face its crises. Each smallest act accomplished imprints its
stamp upon the pliable mass we call character; our manner of handling
each tiniest common-place of our routine helps mould its form; each
fleeting thought helps shape the mould.
The process is involuntary and we are not aware of its working.
Character is not made by tremendous thumps, but by the constant
patterings of minutest touches. The athlete does not build his
strength by enormous exertions, but by consistent and gentle training.
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