uth with a remarkably small body and a remarkably
large head; so disproportionate were the two I should hardly have been
surprised had he put up his hands and taken it off. Half in the room and
half out, I paused.

"Is this Lott & Co.?" I enquired.

"No," he answered; "it's a room." One eye was fixed upon me, dull and
glassy; it never blinked, it never wavered. With the help of the other
he continued his writing.

"I mean," I explained, coming entirely into the room, "are these the
offices of Lott & Co.?"

"It's one of them," he replied; "the back one. If you're really anxious
for a job, you can shut the door."

I complied with his suggestion, and then announced that I was Mr.
Kelver--Mr. Paul Kelver.

"Minikin's my name," he returned, "Sylvanus Minikin. You don't happen by
any chance to know what you've come for, I suppose?"

Looking at his body, my inclination was to pick my way among the goods
that covered the floor and pull his ears for him. From his grave and
massive face, he might, for all I knew, be the head clerk.

"I have called to see Mr. Lott," I replied, with dignity; "I have an
appointment." I produced the letter from my pocket, and leaning across
a sewing-machine, I handed it to him for his inspection. Having read it,
he suddenly took from its socket the eye with which he had been hitherto
regarding me, and proceeding to polish it upon his pocket handkerchief,
turned upon me his other. Having satisfied himself, he handed me back my
letter.

"Want my advice?" he asked.

I thought it might be useful to me, so replied in the affirmative.

"Hook it," was his curt counsel.

"Why?" I asked. "Isn't he a good employer?"

Replacing his glass eye, he turned again to his work. "If employment is
what you want," answered Mr. Minikin, "you'll get it. Best employer in
London. He'll keep you going for twenty-four hours a day, and then offer
you overtime at half salary."

"I must get something to do," I confessed.

"Sit down then," suggested Mr. Minikin. "Rest while you can."

I took the chair; it was the only chair in the room, with the exception
of the one Minikin was sitting on.

"Apart from his being a bit of a driver," I asked, "what sort of a man
is he? Is he pleasant?"

"Never saw him put out but once," answered Minikin.

It sounded well. "When was that?" I asked.

"All the time I've known him."

My spirits continued to sink. Had I been left alone with Minikin much
longer, I might have en