Moreover, as I was in Stationers' Hall one day, a month or more ago, to pay the fee for a register, I overheard Timothy Ryder the beadle and another talking about my master.
"He prints more than he registers," said one.
"And he should have his ears cropped for his pains," said Timothy, "did I but know where to have him." Then seeing that I waited (for they had forgot to give me my acquittance), they dropped talking suddenly.
By all this I guessed that my master was no favourite with them of Stationers' Hall, and, moreover, that he was addicted to disorderly practices contrary to the Acts binding printers.

But so well did he keep his own secret, and so busy was I with my own affairs, that it all passed from my mind, and now only returned when I saw that what had been said of him was true.
He came up from below presently, and I was ready for him.

"Master," said I, "I have displeased you against my will, and I have seen what you would fain have kept a secret.

You shall find it remains safe with me, for I am your 'prentice and bound to you.

Therefore cheer up." He brightened at this.
"You are a good lad," said he.