expenditure of capital and labour as
possible. So they had appointed Garstin to help him; in other words, to
supply the brain qualities which they imagined he lacked. It was unfair
and humiliating.

"Some puling theoretician!" he muttered to himself, as he walked to the
works one winter morning. "Some dandy who can draw cubes and triangles
and cannot do anything else except come here--late probably--in an
overcoat and comforter. One of those sickly office-desk beggars who are
ill half the time and useless the rest. Absolutely sickening!"

He strode along in a temper with which the weather harmonised. It was
gusty, bleak, and wet. Great pools of water lay on the rough roads in
the poor quarter of the town through which lay his route. In order to
reach the works, he had to cross the river by means of a ferry-boat.
When he reached the landing-stage on this particular morning, he could
see the boat moored against the opposite bank, but there was no ferryman
in sight, and there was no response when he shouted.

He shouted again and again. Then he turned up the collar of his
jacket--he disdained a greatcoat--and pulled his cap over his eyes, and
used strong language to relieve his feelings. He was still blaming the
river, the ferryman, and anything else he could think of, when he
became conscious of a light footfall, and, turning, saw a young man
standing by his side.

"I can't make the ferryman hear," he remarked in an aggrieved tone to
the newcomer, as if the latter was in some way responsible for the fact.
"It's an awful nuisance--I am already late. I've never known him play
this trick before."

"And I've been here ten minutes," was the answer. "The man has either
gone away or gone to sleep. Hadn't we better get across some other way?
There is a boat a few yards down. We might borrow it and scull ourselves
across, that is, if you think----"

"Good idea!" exclaimed Trevannion. Then he hesitated. "You--you are not
going to the wharf, are you?" he asked.

"Yes--for the first time in my life."

"Is your name Garstin?"

"That's it. Perhaps you can tell me----"

"I'm Trevannion," briefly. "I didn't expect you quite so soon. Er--I'm
glad to meet you."

His eyes went to the heavy coat in which the lad--he was little
more--was encased, to the fashionable bowler that contrasted with his
own tweed cap, to the umbrella that protected the bowler from the
dripping rain--ay, even to the comforter. It was as he had feared.