soon grew to
detest the man, and had much ado to keep up a show of decent civility in
their intercourse. Of better birth and breeding than Starkey, he burned
with resentment at the scant ceremony with which he was treated, and
loathed the meanness which could exact so much toil for such poor
remuneration. When offering his terms Starkey had talked in that bland way
characteristic of him with strangers.

'I'm really ashamed to propose nothing better to a man of your standing.
But--well, I'm making a start, you see, and the fact of the matter is that,
just at present, I could very well manage to do all the work myself. Still,
if you think it worth your while, there's no doubt we shall get on
capitally together, and, of course, I need not say, as soon as our progress
justifies it, we must come to new arrangements. A matter of six or seven
hours a day will be all I shall ask of you at present. For my own part, I
work chiefly at night.'

CHAPTER II

By the end of the first month Topham was working, not six or seven, but ten
or twelve hours a day, and his spells of labour only lengthened as time
went on. Seeing himself victimised, he one day alluded to the promise of
better terms, but Starkey turned sour.

'You surprise me, Topham. Here are we, practically partners, doing our best
to make this thing a success, and all at once you spring upon me an
unreasonable demand. You know how expensive these rooms are--for we must
have a decent address. If you are dissatisfied, say so, and give me time to
look out for some one else.'

Topham was afraid of the street, and that his employer well knew. The
conversation ended in mutual sullenness, which thenceforward became the
note of their colloquies. Starkey felt himself a victim of ingratitude, and
consequently threw even more work upon his helpless assistant. That the
work was so conscientiously done did not at all astonish him. Now and then
he gave himself the satisfaction of finding fault: just to remind Topham
that his bread depended on another's goodwill. Congenial indolence grew
upon him, but he talked only the more of his ceaseless exertions. Sometimes
in the evening he would throw up his arms, yawn wearily, and declare that
so much toil with such paltry results was a heart-breaking thing.

Topham stared sullenly at the sixpence. This was but the latest of many
insults, yet never before had he so tasted the shame of his subjection.
Though he was earning a living, and