Here and Hereafter by Barry Pain

Seven years to-day have I been in this place, and I am beginning to ask myself whether it is not time that I made a move. When I come to think of it, in my last place I had ten under me, and here it's but three men and a boy, and I always have said and always shall say that a boy is worse than nothing. In some ways I might be sorry to leave. There is work which I have begun here, and which I should be sorry to see pass into other hands to be made a muddle of. Still, as my father used to say, if you don't respect yourself, nobody is going to respect you, and I'm in two minds whether I ought to put up with such language as I had to-day.

"It's all damned carelessness," he said. "You know how particular I am about those Blenheims, and I'd sooner have lost anything in the garden. It isn't because you can't do it. I've always been proud of my melons before. It's just because you've got careless and don't care a curse how much you neglect your work. Most men would have given you the sack at once, and you shall have it from me if ever I find anything of this kind again."