tly Hallam, whom he found tedious, ought to
have been in his hands. But Swift had caught him and would not let him
go. Herein was one of the consequences of the pocketableness of
Cassell's new series. Edwin had been obliged to agree with Tom Orgreave
(now a married man) that the books were not volumes for a collector; but
they were so cheap, and they came from the press so often--once a week,
and they could be carried so comfortably over the heart, that he could
not resist most of them. His professed idea was that by their aid he
could read smaller works in odd moments, at any time, thus surpassing
his programme. He had not foreseen that Swift would make a breach in
his programme, which was already in a bad way.

But he went on reading tranquilly, despite the damage to it; for in the
immediate future shone the hope of the new life, when programmes would
never be neglected. In less than a month he would be thirty years of
age. At twenty, it had seemed a great age, an age of absolute maturity.
Now, he felt as young and as boyish as ever, especially before his
father, and he perceived that his vague early notion about the finality
of such an age as thirty had been infantile. Nevertheless, the entry
into another decade presented itself to him as solemn, and he meant to
signalise it by new and mightier resolutions to execute vaster
programmes. He was intermittently engaged, during these weeks, in the
delicious, the enchanting business of constructing the ideal programme
and scheming the spare hours to ensure its achievement. He lived in a
dream and illusion of ultimate perfection.

Several times, despite the spell of Swift, he glanced at his watch. The
hand went from nine to ten minutes past ten. And then he thought he
heard the sound for which he had been listening. He jumped up,
abandoned the book with its marker, opened the window wide, and lifting
the blind by its rod, put his head out. Yes, he could hear the yelling
afar off, over the hill, softened by distance into something gentle and
attractive.

"`Signal!' `Signal!' Special edition! `Signal!'" And then words
incomprehensible.

It came nearer in the night.

He drew down the window, and left the room. The mere distant sound of
the newsboys' voices had roused him to a pleasing excitement. He
fumbled in his pockets. He had neither a halfpenny nor a penny--it was
just like him--and those newsboys with their valuable tidings would not
care to ha