walked through the garden on the way home and came across Mr. Smith, he would say, 'Henery'-he could not make too much of me, so added a syllable to my Christian name 'would you like some flowers?'

I would indeed. So we walked round the garden, and he picked out all the full-blown roses on the verge of dissolution and any other flowers the judicious cutting of which would improve root or bush. Though on beneficence bent, Mr. Smith ever had a frugal mind. His fitful generosity rose to reckless heights when, at the close of seven years' service on a very miserable salary (quite as much as I was worth in the hide and valonia line), he, as a parting gift, presented me with a five-pound note and some books. In view of the act of grace he went about his library on the principle that guided his steps in the garden-weeding it out, as it were. The volumes, being chiefly of a theological character, made quaint additions to my treasured possessions. But a book is a book, and I was glad to have these, just as I was really grateful for the faded flowers.

Seven years I served Mr. Smith. How I managed to stay and how he managed to keep me are alike inexplicable.

'I like the smell of a good hide, Henery,' he sometimes said, regarding me with stern reproach.

On my soul and conscience I could make no sympathetic response, for I hated the smell and loathed the touch. Almost worse was the valonia. This, I may mention for the guidance of the uninitiated, is a tanning substance imported from the Levant in appearance something like the acorn, with a supernatural capacity for creating dust. We had many samples in the office spread out on brown paper on a broad desk close by mine. I suspected at the time, and am now certain, that when Mr. Smith came up to this desk, got hold of a sample of valonia, shook it violently about and buried his face in the cloud of dust by way of smelling it, he was thinking more of me than of the quality of the valonia he affected to test. He knew I was privately possessed of a duster with which, when left in the office by myself, I used to free my desk from the abominated dust. He did not mean it unkindly. It was discipline intended for my good here and hereafter.

III.

POETRY AND PHONOGRAPHY.

The weakness that proved my ruin at Messrs. King's was not overcome by the consequent disaster. I was rarely at Redcross Street by nine o'clock, which did not matter if Mr. Smith had not arrived. Sometimes he had, and, as I had to pass his private office on the way to my desk, I caught sight of a visage clothed in simply blood-curdling wrath. His habit was to sit in his room with his door closed, but he never failed to have it wide open when he was there first and I late. I believe he, at whatever sacrifice of personal convenience, made these occasional nine-o'clock raids in order to cause me righteous uneasiness on approaching the office after nine o'clock, uncertain whether he might have arrived. In later years he devised a more ingenious and, for him, more luxurious way of doing his duty to me in this respect. He asked me to breakfast at Breck Lodge, and as the time was eight o'clock, it practically came to pass that I was obliged to be in evidence fully an hour before the ordinary office time. Many a miserable night I spent in anticipation of the necessity of breakfasting at Breck Lodge at eight in the morning.

I seem to have been nearly always in disgrace, earliest of all in connection with the old warehouse in Redcross Street. From the topmost floor on the fifth storey there projected a crane with a long chain and a gigantic hook at the end. This was designed to haul up bales of hides or sacks of valonia for storage in the various rooms. I spent a good deal of time in this old warehouse on friendly terms with the men. When they were lowering bales or sacks I was accustomed, being in the yard, to plant a foot in the hook, fold one leg round the returning chain, and, gripping it with both hands, triumphantly ascend. Once, when I had got as far as the third storey and was still slowly ascending, I heard a familiar footstep in the arched passage that led into the yard. Presently Mr. Smith emerged, and stood staring at me. Of course I could not descend. The men were working on the topmost storey and the winch seemed to be hauling very slowly. As I turned round and round like a goose on a turnspit I caught glimpses far below of a terrible face regarding me. He did not say

a word, but stood there till I was safely landed. Then his voice rang out sharp as a pistol-shot. 'Henery!' he called, and, turning, walked with long stride up the steps to his office, where I presently followed and had a very bad quarter of an hour.

His wrath, fortunately, had time to cool before another accident befel me in the very same yard. I was always fond of a horse and would ride anything. When there was nothing else available I used to mount the leading horse of the team taking out a load or an empty cart from the warehouse. Egress to the street was obtained through a narrow covered passage with just room enough for the massive lorries, as they were called, to pass in and out, with space for a chance passer-by if he didn't mind squeezing himself against the wall. One afternoon, mounted on the leading horse of a loaded lorry, I had ridden midway down the passage, when Mr. Smith suddenly turned the corner from the street and approached the yard. If I could have got inside the horse I would have done so. Failing that, there was nothing but to go forward, and as Mr. Smith drew himself up against the wall for the team to pass, my foot almost impinged on the purity of his buff waistcoat.

What an expressive face he had! I have never before or since seen anyone who could look so eloquently angry and speak never a word. He had a lovely chestnut mare. Bess was her name, and many a gallop I have had with her. When we left Redcross Street and went to King Street there were no stables attached to the office. Mr. Smith coming down in the morning, it fell to my lot, amongst multifarious duties much less agreeable, to take the mare to the livery stable. Riding or driving, we ever reached our destination by a circuitous route, and had to go pretty fast, as prolonged absence might have led to awkward inquiries.

On Fridays the local hide market was held in a street out of London Road. Mr. Smith rode down to the office about ten o'clock to read the letters, and then proceeded to the market. In the meantime I was told off to mind the mare,' which, construed by a well-regulated mind, meant walking her up and down the street for a quarter or sometimes half an hour. I never took that view of my duty. As soon as Mr. Smith was safely in his room immersed in his letters, I shortened the stirrups, got some passer-by to give me a leg-up, and was off at a smart trot, past the Custom House and up Duke Street, a broad and comparatively quiet thoroughfare where there was opportunity for a spanking trot. I managed to

get back in good time, lengthened the stirrups, and when Mr. Smith came down to set off for the hide market nothing save a tendency to hard breathing on the part of Bess hinted at occurrence of any impropriety.

One morning catastrophe befel. Either I went too far or the correspondence was unusually brief. However it be, Mr. Smith came down, and I was unfortunately somewhere near the top of Duke Street, a good mile and a half off, riding back rapidly but still too late. When I reached King Street, Mr. Smith, after, as I heard, fuming terribly, had taken a cab and gone off to the market. When he came back, a good hour later, I was quietly leading Bess up and down. He gave me one of his withering glances, but as usual did not speak. The warehouseman was sent down to relieve me. I went upstairs, sat at my desk, and became terribly busy. A terrible voice, three-syllabled in its wrath, called out 'Henery !'

'Henery,' he said, when I went in to him, 'do you want to leave my service?'

'No, sir,' I answered.

'Then don't do that again.' And there the conversation ended.

There was nearing the severance of my companionship with Bess and the beginning of the end of my connection with hides and valonia. One day there joined the little office staff a young giant, Fred Gough by name. He was the son of a tanner, one of our customers. With the family Mr. Smith cultivated friendly relations which in later years culminated in his marrying Fred's widowed mother. A good-natured, hearty, genial fellow was Fred, gifted with a fine bass voice. In occasional moments of relaxation, when Mr. Smith was on afternoon ''Change,' good for an hour's absence, we used to draw round the fireplace and Fred sang 'The Wolf' and other songs of tremendous volume. By a pleasant fiction, he was understood to be my junior. When I saw him stand on a chair and with perfect ease wind the clock over the fireplace I felt my occupation was gone. It was only by planting two press-letter books on the loftiest stool in the office that I was able through a long series of Monday mornings to wind the clock.

Fred immediately forestalled me in the matter of looking after Bess. He took her to the livery stable in the morning and rode her home to Breck Lodge on the occasional evenings when

Mr. Smith was going straight from the office to a tea-party or a prayer meeting.

What was even more important was that Fred's appearance in the office crushed out the last hope or opportunity of my promotion. There was a time when-Heaven help me!-I quite resigned myself to hides and valonia, was even eagerly looking forward to promotion, which, if it had come, would have satisfied my aspirations. Shortly after we removed from the musty warehouse to King Street poor old Tunstall broke down, and quitted a world that had grown a homeless place for him. This left a clerical staff composed of the gentleman who combined the functions of cashier and bookkeeper and myself. Mr. RaleighGeorge Gordon Raleigh was his full name, possessing a sonority which had a great charm for my ear-elected to take Tunstall's place, going out into dank cellars, sniffing at hides, and burying his nose in valonia dust as he had seen Mr. Smith do. Thus the way was open for me to Raleigh's place, and I cherished the hope that it was to be mine. This was encouraged by two circumstances. One was that a boy was engaged to do some of my work, and I did all Raleigh's. I kept the books, made out the invoices, and had daily charge of considerable sums of money. I toiled terribly, coming down with preternatural punctuality at nine o'clock in the morning, staying at my desk till seven or eight at night.

Mr. Smith, to do him justice, never said a word to encourage my delusion, and did not increase by a penny the wage I was receiving, by this time risen by slow gradations to the princely sum of ten shillings a week, peradventure twelve and sixpence. I was patient, always naturally inclined to hope for the best and believe in the brightest. For six months I literally slaved at work which had in some measure lost its uncongeniality in presence of greater responsibility and the prospect of promotion. One morning-a Monday morning it was, I remember—there walked into the office a gentleman with sallow face and long red hair lavishly oiled. He went into Mr. Smith's room. Presently Mr. Smith brought him out to the desk at which I was struggling with a day-book nearly as big as myself, and told me in his prim matter-of-fact way that this was Mr. Blossom, and that Mr. Blossom would take Mr. Raleigh's place.

Dear old Blossom, kindest of natures, best of bookkeepers, was a man of cultured mind and artistic taste, bubbling over with