"Do you ever see any addressed to Mrs Cruden or Mr Cruden in London?"

"'Bout once a week. That there sekketery always gives 'em to me
separate, and says I'm to be sure and post 'em."

"Well, I say they're not to be posted," said Mr Medlock. "Here's half
a crown; and listen: next time you get any to post put them on one side;
and every one you can show me you shall have sixpence for. Mind what
you're at, or he'll flay you alive if he catches you. Off you go,
there's a good boy."

And Love pocketed his half-crown greedily, and with a knowing wink at
his employer sped back to the office.

That afternoon Reginald wrote a short polite note to the Rev. T.
Mulberry, explaining to him the reason for any apparent delay in the
execution of his order, and promising that he should duly receive it
before Christmas. This was the only letter for the post that day, and
Love had no opportunity of earning a further sixpence.

He had an opportunity of spending his half-crown, however, and when he
returned from the post he was radiant in face and stouter under the
waistcoat by the thickness of the coveted volume of the _Newgate
Calendar_ series.

With the impetuosity characteristic of his age, he plunged into its
contents the moment he found himself free of work, and by the time
Reginald returned from his short evening stroll he was master of several
of its stories. _Tim Tigerskin_ and _The Pirate's Bride_ were nothing
to it. They all performed their incredible exploits on the other side
of the world, but these heroes were beings of flesh and blood like
himself, and, for all he knew, he might have seen them and talked to
them, and have known some of the very spots in London which they
frequented. He felt a personal interest in their achievements.

"Say, governor," said he as soon as Reginald entered, "do you know
Southwark Road?"

"In London? Yes," said Reginald.

"This 'ere chap, Bright, was a light porter to a cove as kep' a grocer's
shop there, and one night when he was asleep in the arm-cheer he puts a
sack on 'is 'ead and chokes 'im. The old cove he struggles a bit,
but--"

"Shut up!" said Reginald angrily. "I've told you quite often enough.
Give me that book."

At the words and the tones in which they were uttered Love suddenly
turned into a small fiend. He struggled, he kicked, he cursed, he
howled to keep his treasure. Reginald was inexorable, and of course it
was only a matter of time until the boo