say, if you can only hear of one for two!"

This last appeal went to Reginald's heart, and he inwardly resolved, if
Mr Medlock turned out to be as amiable a man as he took him for, to put
in a word on Gedge's behalf as well as his own at the coming interview.

The dinner-bell that Monday tolled solemnly in Reginald's ears as he put
on a clean collar and brushed his hair previously to embarking on his
journey to Weaver's Hotel. What change might not have taken place in
his lot before that same bell summoned him once more to work? He left
the _Rocket_ a needy youth of L47 10 shillings a year. Was he to return
to it passing rich of L97 10 shillings?

Weaver's Hotel was a respectable quiet resort for country visitors in
London, and Reginald, as he stood in its homely entrance hall, felt
secretly glad that the Corporation selected a place like this for its
London headquarters rather than one of the more showy but less
respectable hotels or restaurants with which the neighbourhood abounded.

Mr Medlock was in his room, the waiter said, and Mr Cruden was to step
up. He did step up, and was ushered into a little sitting-room, where a
middle-aged gentleman stood before the fire-place reading the paper and
softly humming to himself as he did so.

"Mr Cruden, sir," said the waiter.

"Ah! Mr Cruden, good morning. Take a seat. John, I shall be ready
for lunch in about ten-minutes."

Reginald, with the agitating conviction that his fate would be sealed
one way or another in ten-minutes, obeyed, and darted a nervous glance
at his new acquaintance.

He rather liked the looks of him. He looked a comfortable, well-to-do
gentleman, with rather a handsome face, and a manner by no means
disheartening. Mr Medlock in turn indulged in a careful survey of the
boy as he sat shyly before him trying to look self-possessed, but not
man of the world enough to conceal his anxiety or excitement.

"Let me see," said Mr Medlock, putting his hands in his pocket and
leaning against the mantel-piece, "you replied to the advertisement,
didn't you?"

"Yes, sir," said Reginald.

"And what made you think you would suit us?"

"Well, sir," stammered Reginald, "you wanted respectable intelligent
young men--and--and I thought I--that is, I hoped I might answer that
description."

Mr Medlock took one hand out of his pocket and stroked his chin.

"Have you been in the printing trade long?"

"Only a few weeks, sir."

"What were you doing