But when it came to abusing, not himself, but his goods, with the result that a good many of the latter, in the course of a term, came to be damaged, and some, he had reason to suppose, pilfered, then Mr Webster thought it time to make a stand and assert himself.

He was, therefore, more brusque and less obsequious to the junior portion of Templeton this term than he had been last.
So, when Coote, in the artlessness of his nature, feigned an earnest desire to know the price of an elegant ormolu inkpot, and modestly inquired it, the tradesman eyed him sharply and replied-- "Ten shillings.

Do you want to buy it ?" Coote was one of those individuals who cannot say "no" to a shopman.
Though nothing was further from his mind than putting his sadly reduced pocket-money into an ormolu inkpot, his tender heart could not bear to dash the stationer's hopes too rudely.

He said he couldn't quite make up his mind, and would just look round, if he might.
Mr Webster had got tired of the young Templeton gentlemen "looking round." He knew what it meant, generally.

The springs of all his inkpots got critically tested, pencils got twisted in and out till they refused to twist again, desks got ransacked, and their contents mixed in glorious and hopeless confusion, photographs got thumbed, books got dog- eared; and the sole profit to the honest merchant was the healthy exercise of putting everything tidy after his visitors had left, and the satisfaction of expressing his feelings in language strictly selected from the dictionary.
He was, therefore, by no means elated at Coote's proposal, and might have vetoed it, had not an important customer, in the shape of the Rev.
Mr Westworth, the curate, entered at that moment, and diverted his attention.