rare weakness.

"It's the wife, old chap," he explained, as they drew near the
terminus. "You see, I married a little above my station, but there was
never any money, and the two kids came and there didn't seem enough
to clothe them properly, or feed them properly, or put even a trifle
by in case anything should happen to me. Life's been pretty hard,
Jacob, and I can't make friends. Or rather I never have been able to
until you came along."

They shook hands once more, a queer but very human proceeding in those
overwrought moments.

"Just you walk to the office this morning," Jacob said, "with your
head in the air, and keep on telling yourself there's no mistake about
it. You're going home to-night with a hundred pounds in bank notes in
your pocket, with a bottle of wine under one arm, and a brown paper
parcel as big as you can carry under the other. You're out of the
wood, young fellow, and you be thankful for the rest of your life that
you found the way to smile one morning. So long till one o'clock at
Simpson's," he added, as they stepped out on to the platform. "Hi,
taxi!"

Mr. Bultiwell came hurrying along, with a good deal less than his
usual dignity. He was not one of those men who were intended by nature
to proceed at any other than a leisurely pace.

"Pratt," he called out, "wait a minute. We'll share that taxi, eh?"

Jacob glanced over his shoulder.

"Sorry," he answered, "I'm not going your way."

* * * * *

Soon after the opening of that august establishment, Jacob, not
without some trepidation, visited the Bank of England. At half-past
ten, he strolled into the warehouse of Messrs. Smith and Joyce,
leather merchants, Bermondsey Street, the firm for which he had been
working during the last two years. Mr. Smith frowned at him from
behind a stack of leather.

"You're late this morning, Pratt," he growled. "I thought perhaps you
had gone over to see that man at Tottenham."

"The man at Tottenham," Jacob remarked equably, "can go to hell."

Mr. Smith was a short, thin man with a cynical expression, a bloodless
face and a loveless heart. He opened his mouth a little, a habit of
his when surprised.

"I suppose it is too early in the morning to suggest that you have
been drinking," he said.

"You are right," Jacob acknowledged. "A little later in the day I
shall be able to satisfy everybody in that respect."

Mr. Smith came out from behind the stack of leather. H