gloom on his face; he puffed at his pipe
rather sullenly.

'Who has told him our names and addresses?' Gilbert asked.

'Bower, no doubt.'

'But how comes Bower to know anything about me?'

'Oh, I've mentioned you sometimes.'

'Well, do you think of going?'

'No, I shan't go. It isn't at all in my line.'

Gilbert became silent.

'Something the matter?' he asked presently, as his companion puffed on
in the same gloomy way.

'A bit of a headache, that's all.'

His tone was unusual. Gilbert fixed his eyes on the pavement.

'It's easy enough to see what it means,' Ackroyd continued after a
moment, referring to Egremont's invitation. 'We shall be having an
election before long, and he's going to stand for Vauxhall. This is one
way of making himself known.'

'If I thought that,' said the other, musingly, 'I shouldn't go near the
place.'

'What else can it be?'

'I don't know anything about the man, but he may have an idea that he's
doing good.'

'If so, _that's_ quite enough to prevent me from going. What the devil
do I want with his help? Can't I read about English literature for
myself?'

'Well, I can't say that I have that feeling. A lecture may be a good
deal of use, if the man knows his subject well. But,' he added,
smiling, 'I suppose you object to him and his position?'

'Of course I do. What business has the fellow to have so much time that
he doesn't know what to do with it?'

'He might use it worse, anyhow.'

'I don't know about that. I'd rather he'd get a bad name, then it 'ud
be easier to abuse him, and he'd be more good in the end.'

Their eyes met. Gilbert's had a humorous expression, and Ackroyd
laughed in an unmirthful way. The factory bell rang; Gilbert rose and
waited for the other to accompany him. But Luke, after a struggle to
his feet, said suddenly:

'Work be hanged! I've had enough of it; I feel Mondayish, as we used to
say in Lancashire.'

'Aren't you coming, then?'

'No, I'll go and get drunk instead.'

'Come on, old man. No good in getting drunk,'

'Maybe I won't but I can't go back to work to-day. So long!'

With which vernacular leave-taking, he turned and strolled away. The
bell was clanging its last strokes; Gilbert hurried to the door, and
once more merged his humanity in the wage-earning machine.

Two days later, as he sat over his evening meal, Gilbert noticed that
his mother had something to say. She cast frequent glances at him; her
pursed lips seemed to