erly had
earned him a reputation with his peers, was now easily appeased with a
piece of buttered bread and a cup of milkless tea; the "duff" and rice
puddings, of the goldsmith's making, had passed out of his life even as
had the "boss" himself. Never was there a more badgered, woe-begone
youth than Jake.

It was night time. The shutters of the shop were up, the door was
bolted, the safe, with its store of gold-set gewgaws, was locked, and
the key rested securely in the apprentice's pocket, but by the light of
a gas-jet, his head bent over the bench, Jake was hard at work on a
half-finished ring. In one hand he held a tapering steel rod, on which
was threaded a circle of metal which might have been mistaken for brass;
in the other he held a light hammer with which he beat the yellow
zone. Tap-tap. "Jerusalem, my 'appy 'ome, oh! how I long for thee!"
Tap-tap-tap went the hammer. "If the 'old man' was on'y here to lend a
hand, I'd give a week's pay. The gold's full o' flaws--all along of the
wrong alloy, in smeltin'--full o' cracks and crevices." He took the gold
hoop off the steel rod, placed it on a piece of charred wood, pulled the
gas-jet towards him, and with the blow-pipe impinged little jets of
flame upon the yellow ring. "An' the galloot that come in this afternoon
said, 'I always find the work turned out of this shop ah--excellent,
ah--tip-top, as good as anything I ever bought in the Old Country,
don'tcherknow.' Yah! Gimme silver, that's all. Gimme a butterfly buckle
to make, or a monogram to saw out, an' I wouldn't call the Pope my
uncle." His eye lifted from his work and rested on a broken gold brooch,
beautiful with plaited hair under a glass centre. "An' that fussy old
wood-hen'll be in, first thing to-morrow, askin' for 'the memento of my
poor dear 'usband, my child, the one with the 'air in it'--carrotty
'air. An' those two bits of 'air-pins that want them silver bangles by
ten o'clock, they'll be here punctual. I'm just fair drove silly with
badgerin' wimmen. I'm goin' ratty with worry. When the boss comes back
from his spree, I'll give 'im a bit o' my mind. I'll tell 'im, if he
_must_ go on a bend he should wait till the proper time--Christmas,
Anniversary of the Settlement, Easter, or even a Gov'ment Holiday. But
at a time like _this_, when the town's fair drippin' with dollars ...
stupid ole buck-rabbit! An' when he can't be found, the mutton-headed
bobbies suddenly become suspicious. It's no good for