Dauncey made his fortune by that speech--and Jacob had to
swallow very hard and look very fixedly out of the window.

CHAPTER I

Precisely two years later, Jacob Pratt sat once more in his cottage
sitting-room, contemplating the remains of a barely tasted breakfast.
Before him, read for the fiftieth time, were the wonderful letters, in
his brain a most amazing confusion, in his heart an almost hysterical
joy. Presently Mrs. Harris brought in his hat and stick.

"You'll excuse my mentioning it, sir," she said, looking at the former
a little disparagingly, "but, brush though I may, there's no doing
much with this hat of yours. The nap's fair gone. Maybe you haven't
noticed it, sir, but, with the summer coming on, a straw hat--"

"I'll buy a straw hat to-day, Mrs. Harris," Jacob promised.

"And you'll be home at the usual time for your supper, sir?"

"I--I expect so. I am not quite sure, Mrs. Harris. I shall be home
sometime during the day, all right."

Mrs. Harris shook her head at the sight of the untasted egg.

"You'll excuse my saying so, sir," she pronounced severely, "but
there's no good work done on an empty stomach. Times is hard, as we
all know, but eggs is cheap."

"Mrs. Harris," Jacob reminded her, "it is two years since I left one
of your eggs. I left it then because I was miserable. I am leaving
it this morning because--I have had good news. I can't eat. Later
on--later on, Mrs. Harris."

"And a bit of good news is what you deserve, sir," the latter
declared, lingering while he cut his accustomed rose with fingers
which trembled strangely.

"Thank you very much, Mrs. Harris," he said. "When I come back
to-night, I'll tell you all about it."

Once more, then, two years almost to a day after Mr. Edward Bultiwell,
of the great firm of Bultiwell and Sons, had laid down his newspaper
and spoken his mind, Jacob was on his way to the station, again
wearing a choice rose in his buttonhole. He had found no occasion to
change his lodgings, for he had been an economical man who took great
care of his possessions even in the days of his prosperity, and his
moderate salary as traveller for a Bermondsey firm of merchants
brought him in quite enough for his simple needs. He had to some
extent lived down his disgrace. The manager of the International
Stores nodded to him now, a trifle condescendingly, yet with tacit
acknowledgement of the fact that in domestic affairs Jacob was a man
of principle who a