ies which make a
good wife.

Will's eye fell on Sherwood's note, and he went to bed wondering what
the project might be which was to make their fortune.

CHAPTER 6

He had breakfasted, and was smoking his pipe as he wrote a letter, when
Mrs. Hopper announced the visit, by appointment, of her brother-in-law,
Allchin. There entered a short, sturdy, red-headed young fellow, in a
Sunday suit of respectable antiquity; his features were rude, his
aspect dogged; but a certain intelligence showed in his countenance,
and a not unamiable smile responded to the bluff heartiness of
Warburton's greeting. By original calling, Allchin was a grocer's
assistant, but a troublesome temper had more than once set him adrift,
the outcast of grocerdom, to earn a living as best he could by his
vigorous thews, and it was in one of these intervals that, having need
of a porter at the works, Warburton had engaged him, on Mrs. Hopper's
petition. After a month or so of irreproachable service, Allchin fought
with a foreman, and took his discharge. The same week, Mrs. Allchin
presented him with their first child; the family fell into want; Mrs.
Hopper (squeezed between door and jamb) drew her master's attention to
the lamentable case, and help was of course forthcoming. Then, by good
luck, Allchin was enabled to resume his vocation; he got a place at a
grocer's in Fulham Road, and in a few weeks presented himself before
his benefactor, bringing half-a-crown as a first instalment toward the
discharge of his debt; for only on this condition had he accepted the
money. Half a year elapsed without troublesome incident; the man made
regular repayment in small sums; then came the disaster which Mrs.
Hopper had yesterday announced.

"Well, Allchin," cried Warburton, "what's the latest?"

Before speaking, the other pressed his lips tightly together and puffed
out his cheeks, as if it cost him an effort to bring words to the
surface. His reply came forth with explosive abruptness.

"Lost my place at Boxon's, sir."

"And how's that?"

"It happened last Saturday, sir. I don't want to make out as I wasn't
at all to blame. I know as well as anybody that I've got a will of my
own. But we're open late, as perhaps you know, sir, on Saturday night,
and Mr. Boxon--well, it's only the truth--he's never quite himself
after ten o'clock. I'd worked from eight in the morning to something
past midnight--of course I don't think nothing of that, 'cause it's