LITMIR.BIZ

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interest to me?”

      “It’s of no interest to you, sir, and we know it. You never hear a word of what happens outside this house.”

      “Mr. Spencer Curtis conducts my business,” said Nicholas politely.

      “We know that too, sir, and we know the way it is conducted. It’s an iron hand, and a heart like flint. It’s pay or go, and not an hour’s grace.”

      “You can hardly expect him to give you my cottages rent free,” suggested Nicholas suavely.

      The man winced.

      “No, sir. But where a few weeks would make all the difference to a man, where it’s a matter of a few shillings standing between home and the roadside—” he broke off.

      Nicholas was silent.

      “I thought perhaps a word to you, sir,” went on the man half wistfully. “We’re to go to-morrow if I can’t pay, and I can’t. A couple of weeks might have made all the difference. It was for the wife I came, sneaking up here like a thief. She’s lost two little ones; they never but opened their eyes on the world to shut them again. I’m glad on it now. But women aren’t made that way. There’s another coming. She’s not strong. I doubt but the shock’ll not take her and the little one too. Better for them both if it does. A man can face odds, and remake his life if he is a man—” he stopped.

      Still there was silence.

      “I was a fool to come,” said the man drearily. “ ’Twas the weather did it in the end. I’d gone mad-like listening to the wind and rain, and thinking of her and the child that was to be—” again he stopped.

      Nicholas was watching him from under the penthouse of his eyebrows. Suddenly he spoke.

      “How soon could you pay your rent?” he demanded.

      “In a fortnight most like, sir. Three weeks for certain.”

      “Have you told Mr. Curtis that?”

      “I have, sir. But it’s the tick of time, or out you go.”

      “Have you ever been behindhand before?”

      “No, sir.”

      “How has it happened now?” The questions came short, incisive.

      The man flushed.

      “How has it happened now?” repeated Nicholas distinctly.

      “I lent a bit, sir.”

      “To whom?”

      “Widow Thisby. She’s an old woman, sir.”

      “Tell me the whole story,” said Nicholas curtly.

      Again the flush rose to the man’s face.

      “Her son got into a bit of trouble, sir. It was a matter of a sovereign or going to gaol. He’s only a youngster, and the prison smell sticks. Trust folk for nosing it out. He’s got a chance now, and will be sending his mother a trifle presently.”

      “Then I suppose she’ll repay you?”

      Job fidgeted with his cap.

      “Well, sir, I don’t suppose it’ll be more’n a trifle he’ll send; and she’s got her work cut out to make both ends meet.”

      “Then I suppose you gave her the money?”

      Job shifted his feet uneasily.

      “How did you intend to raise the money due for your rent, then?” demanded Nicholas less curtly.

      Job left off fidgeting. He felt on safer ground here.

      “It just meant a bit extra saved from each week,” he said eagerly. “You can do it if you’ve time. Boiling water poured into the morning teapot for evenings, and knock off your bit of bacon, and—well, there’s lots of ways, sir, and women is wonderful folk for managing, the best ones. Where it’s thought and trouble they’ll do it, and they’d be using strength too if they’d got it, but some of them hasn’t.”

      “Hmm,” said Nicholas. He put up his hand to his mouth. “So you gave money you knew would never be repaid, knowing, too, that it meant possible homelessness.”

      “You’d have done it yourself if you’d been in my place,” said the man bluntly.

      “Should I?” said Nicholas half ironically. “I very much doubt it. Also what right had you to gamble with your wife’s happiness? You knew the risk you ran. You knew the—er, the rule regarding the rents. Job Grantley, you were a fool.”

      Again the colour rushed to the man’s face.

      “May be, sir. I’ll allow it sounds foolishness, but—oh Lord, sir, where’s the use o’ back-thinking now. I reckon you’d never do a hand’s turn for nobody if you spent your time looking backward and forrard at your jobs.” He stopped, his chin quivering.

      “Job Grantley, you were a fool.” Nicholas repeated the words with even deliberation.

      The man moved silently towards the window. There was a clumsy dignity about his figure.

      “Stop,” said Nicholas. “Job Grantley, you are a fool.”

      The man turned round.

      “Go to that drawer,” ordered Nicholas, “and bring me a pocket-book you will find there.”

      Mechanically the man did as he was bidden. Nicholas took the book.

      “Now then,” he said opening it, “how much will put you right?”

      The man stared.

      “I—oh, sir.”

      “How much will put you right?” demanded Nicholas.

      “A pound, sir. The month’s rent is due to-morrow.”

      Nicholas raised his eyebrows.

      “Humph. Not much to stand between you and—hell. I’ve no doubt you did consider it hell. We each have our own interpretation of that cheerful abode.”

      He turned the papers carefully.

      “Now look here,” he said suddenly, “there’s five pounds. It’s for yourselves, mind. No more indiscriminate bestowal of charity, you understand. You begin your charity at home. Do you follow me?”

      The man took the money in a dazed fashion. He was more than half bewildered at the sudden turn in events.

      “I’ll repay you faithfully, sir. I’ll——”

      “Damn you,” broke in Nicholas softly, “who talked about repayment? Can’t I make a present as well as you, if I like? Besides I owe you something for this ten minutes. They have been interesting. I don’t get too many excitements. That’ll do. I don’t want any thanks. Be off with you. Better go by the window. There might be a need of explanations if you tried a more conventional mode of exit now. That’ll do, that’ll do. Go, man.”

      Two minutes later Nicholas was looking again towards the curtains behind which Job Grantley had vanished.

      “Now, was I the greater fool?” he said aloud. There was an odd, mocking expression in his eyes.

      Ten minutes later he pressed the electric button attached to the arm of his chair. His eyes were on his watch which he held in his hand. As the library door opened, he replaced it in his pocket.

      “Right to the second,” he laughed. “Ah, Jessop.”

      The man who entered was about fifty years of age, or thereabouts, grey-haired, clean-shaven. His face was cast in the rigid lines peculiar to his calling. Possibly they relaxed when with his own kind, but one could not feel certain of the fact.

      “Ah,

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