fication. Adela, who
sat with her mother and Letty (Mrs. Westlake had not accompanied her
husband), kept her eyes fixed on the ground; the uproar made her head
throb.

All seemed to be over and dispersal was beginning, when a gentleman
stood up in the middle of the hall and made signs that he wished to be
heard for a moment. Mutimer aided him in gaining attention. It was Mr.
Yottle, a grizzle-headed, ruddy-cheeked veteran of the law.

'I merely desire to use this opportunity of reminding those who have
been employed at the works that Mr. Eldon will be glad to meet them in
this hall at half-past ten o'clock to-morrow morning. It will perhaps
be better if the men alone attend, as the meeting will be strictly for
business purposes.'

Adela was among the last to leave the room. As she was moving between
the rows of benches Mr. Westlake approached her. He had only arrived
in time to take his place on the platform, and he was on the point of
returning to London.

I have a note for you from Stella, he said. 'She has been ailing for a
fortnight; it wasn't safe for her to come. But she will soon see you, I
hope.'

'I hope so,' Adela replied mechanically, as she took the letter.

Mr. Westlake only added his 'good-bye,' and went to take leave of
Mutimer, who was standing at a little distance.

Among those who remained to talk with the hero of the day was our old
friend Keene. Keene had risen in the world, being at present sub-editor
of a Belwick journal. His appearance had considerably improved, and his
manner was more ornate than ever. He took Mutimer by the arm and led him
aside.

'A suggestion--something that occurred to me whilst you were speaking.
You must write the history of New Wanley Not too long; a thing that
could be printed in pamphlet form and sold at a penny or twopence. Speak
to Westlake see if the Union won't publish. Some simple title: "My Work
in New Wanley," for instance. I'll see that it's well noticed in our
rag.'

'Not a bad idea!' Mutimer exclaimed, throwing back his head.

'Trust me, not half bad. Be of use in the propaganda. Just think it
over, and, if you care to, allow me to read it in manuscript. There's
a kind of art--eh? you know what I mean; it's only to be got by
journalistic practice. Yes, "My Work in New Wanley"; I think that would
do.'

'I'm going to lecture at Commonwealth Hall next Sunday,' Mutimer
observed. 'I'll take that for my title.'

'By-the-bye how--what was I going to s