ile radius."

Thrush had finished breakfast, and Mullins was beginning to clear away,
when a stormy step was heard upon the stairs, and in burst Mr. Upton with
a panic-stricken face. He was colourless almost to the neck, but he
denied that he had any news, though not without a pregnant glance at
Mullins, and fell to abusing London and the Londoners, but City men above
all others, till Thrush and he should be alone together. The incidental
diatribe was no mere padding, either; it was the sincere utterance of a
passionately provincial soul. Nobody in all London, he declared, and
apparently without excepting Mr. Thrush, cared a twopenny curse what
became of his poor boy. In view of the fact that the present company
alone knew of his disappearance, and not so very many more of the boy's
existence, this was an extravagantly sweeping statement. But the
distracted man had a particular instance to bear him out; he had been to
see his boy's friends' father, "a swine called Knaggs," that very morning
at his house in St. John's Wood.

"Rather early, wasn't it?" suggested Thrush, whose manner was more softly
sympathetic than it had been the night before. The change was slight, and
yet marked. He was more solicitous.

"Early!" cried Mr. Upton. "Haven't I lost my boy, and wasn't it these
Cockney cads who turned him adrift in London? I ought to have gone to
them last night. I wish I had, when my blood was up after your dinner;
for I don't mind telling you now, Mr. Thrush, that in spite of your
hospitality I was none too pleased at your anxiety to get rid of me
afterwards. It made me feel like doing a little bit for the boy on my
own; but I'd called once on my way into town, and only seen a servant
then, so I thought I'd make sure of putting salt on somebody by waiting
till this morning."

The visitor paused to look harder than ever at Mullins, and Thrush seized
the opportunity to offer an apology for his abrupt behaviour in the
street.

"I confess I showed indecent haste," said he; "but Mullins and I had our
night's work cut out, and he at any rate has not had his boots off since
you saw him."

"Hasn't he?" cried Mr. Upton, in remorseful recognition of an unsuspected
devotion; "then I'll say what I've got to say in front of him, for you're
both my friends, and I'll unsay all I said just now. Bear with my temper,
both of you, if you can, for I feel beside myself about the boy! It was
all I could do to keep my hands