only one-third of his present
space. But as we age we dwindle.

More hammering and alterations, and James found himself cooped in a
long, long narrow shop, very dark at the back, with a high oblong
window and a door that came in at a pinched corner. Next door to him
was a cheerful new grocer of the cheap and florid type. The new
grocer whistled "Just Like the Ivy," and shouted boisterously to his
shop-boy. In his doorway, protruding on James' sensitive vision, was
a pyramid of sixpence-halfpenny tins of salmon, red, shiny tins with
pink halved salmons depicted, and another yellow pyramid of
four-pence-halfpenny tins of pineapple. Bacon dangled in pale rolls
_almost_ over James' doorway, whilst straw and paper, redolent of
cheese, lard, and stale eggs filtered through the threshold.

This was coming down in the world, with a vengeance. But what James
lost downstairs he tried to recover upstairs. Heaven knows what he
would have done, but for Miss Pinnegar. She kept her own work-rooms
against him, with a soft, heavy, silent tenacity that would have
beaten stronger men than James. But his strength lay in his
pliability. He rummaged in the empty lofts, and among the discarded
machinery. He rigged up the engines afresh, bought two new machines,
and started an elastic department, making elastic for garters and
for hat-chins.

He was immensely proud of his first cards of elastic, and saw Dame
Fortune this time fast in his yielding hands. But, becoming used to
disillusionment, he almost welcomed it. Within six months he
realized that every inch of elastic cost him exactly sixty per cent.
more than he could sell it for, and so he scrapped his new
department. Luckily, he sold one machine and even gained two pounds
on it.

After this, he made one last effort. This was hosiery webbing, which
could be cut up and made into as-yet-unheard-of garments. Miss
Pinnegar kept her thumb on this enterprise, so that it was not much
more than abortive. And then James left her alone.

Meanwhile the shop slowly churned its oddments. Every Thursday
afternoon James sorted out tangles of bits and bobs, antique
garments and occasional finds. With these he trimmed his window, so
that it looked like a historical museum, rather soiled and scrappy.
Indoors he made baskets of assortments: threepenny, sixpenny,
ninepenny and shilling baskets, rather like a bran pie in which
everything was a plum. And then, on Friday evening, thin and alert
he hovere