s occupation consists in dodging thoroughfares under
repair.

Numbers of dingy streets have been flung about to help him. There is
one of these in Bloomsbury, which was originally discovered by a
student while looking for the British Museum. It runs a hundred yards
in a straight line, then stops, like a stranger who has lost his way,
and hurries by another route out of the neighbourhood.

The houses are dull, except one, just where it doubles, which is gloomy.

This house is divided into sets of chambers and has a new frontage, but
it no longer lets well. A few years ago there were two funerals from
it within a fortnight, and soon afterward another of the tenants was
found at the foot of the stair with his neck broken. These fatalities
gave the house a bad name, as such things do in London.

It was here that Andrew's patron, the president, lived.

To the outcast from work to get an object in life is to be born again.
Andrew bustled to the president's chambers on the Saturday night
following the events already described, with his chest well set.

His springy step echoed of wages in the hearts of the unemployed.
Envious eyes, following his swaggering staff, could not see that but a
few days before he had been as the thirteenth person at a dinner-party.

Such a change does society bring about when it empties a chair for the
superfluous man.

It may be wondered that he felt so sure of himself, for the night had
still to decide his claims.

Andrew, however, had thought it all out in his solitary lodgings, and
had put fear from him. He felt his failings and allowed for every one
of them, but he knew his merits too, and his testimonials were in his
pocket. Strength of purpose was his weak point, and, though the good
of humanity was his loadstar, it did not make him quite forget self.

It may not be possible to serve both God and mammon, but since Adam the
world has been at it. We ought to know by this time.

The Society for Doing Without was as immoral as it certainly was
illegal. The president's motives were not more disinterested than his
actions were defensible. He even deserved punishment.

All these things may be. The great social question is not to be solved
in a day. It never will be solved if those who take it by the beard
are not given an unbiassed hearing.

Those were the young Scotchman's views when the president opened the
door to him, and what he saw and heard that night strengthened them.