, but she said there wasn't. It must have contained bad
news, I fear, for she turned pale while she read it."

"H'm, well," said John, putting on his cap, "don't know nothin' about
what was in it, so it's no bizzness o' mine."

With a hearty good-evening to all, and a special embrace to Gertie, the
engine-driver left his home, accompanied by Bob his hopeful son.

"Mr Sharp," said Bob, as they walked along, "has bin makin' oncommon
partikler inquiries among us about some o' the porters. I raither think
they're a bad lot."

"Not at all," replied his father severely. "They're no more a bad lot
than the drivers, or, for the matter of that, than the clerks or the
directors, or the lamp-boys. You ought to be gittin' old enough by this
time, Bob, to know that every lot o' fish in this world, however good,
has got a few bad uns among 'em. As a rule railway directors and
railway clerks, and railway porters and railway officials of all sorts
are good--more or less--the same may be said of banks an' insurances,
an' all sorts of things--but, do what ye may, a black sheep or two
_will_ git in among 'em, and, of course, the bigger the consarn, the
more numerous the black sheep. Even the clergy ain't free from that
uniwersal law of natur. But what's Mr Sharp bin inquiring arter?"

"Ah--wot indeed!" replied Bob; "'ow should I know? Mr Sharp ain't the
man to go about the line with a ticket on his back tellin' wot he's
arter. By no means. P'lice superintendents ain't usually given to
that; but he's arter _somethin'_ partickler."

"Well, that ain't no bizzness of ours, Bob, so we don't need to trouble
our heads about it. There's nothin' like mindin' yer own bizzness.
Same time," added John after a short pause, "that's no reason why, as a
sea-farin' friend o' mine used to say, a man shouldn't keep his
weather-eye open, d'ye see?"

Bob intimated that he did see, by winking with the eye that chanced to
be next his parent; but further converse between father and son was
interrupted at a turn in the road, where they were joined by a stout,
broad-shouldered young man, whose green velveteen jacket vest, and
trousers bespoke him a railway porter.

"Evenin', Sam," said our driver with a friendly nod; "goin' on night
dooty, eh?"

"Yes, worse luck," replied Sam, thrusting his powerful hands into his
pockets.

"Why so, Sam, you ain't used to mind night dooty?"

"No more I do," said Sam testily, "but my missus is took bad, and