ne of several letters that were lying before him. At the back
was a large unframed photograph of the size known as half-plate of the
interior of some building. At another desk, or rather table, at the
other side of the office, a young woman was sitting writing in a large
ledger. There was a typewriting machine on the table at her side.

Rushton glanced up carelessly as Owen came in, but took no further
notice of him.

'Just wait a minute,' Hunter said to Owen, and then, after conversing
in a low tone with Rushton for a few minutes, the foreman put on his
hat and went out of the office through the partition door which led
into the front shop.

Owen stood waiting for Rushton to speak. He wondered why Hunter had
sneaked off and felt inclined to open the door and call him back. One
thing he was determined about: he meant to have some explanation: he
would not submit tamely to be dismissed without any just reason.

When he had finished reading the letter, Rushton looked up, and,
leaning comfortably back in his chair, he blew a cloud of smoke from
his cigar, and said in an affable, indulgent tone, such as one might
use to a child:

'You're a bit of a hartist, ain't yer?'

Owen was so surprised at this reception that he was for the moment
unable to reply.

'You know what I mean,' continued Rushton; 'decorating work, something
like them samples of yours what's hanging up there.'

He noticed the embarrassment of Owen's manner, and was gratified. He
thought the man was confused at being spoken to by such a superior
person as himself.

Mr Rushton was about thirty-five years of age, with light grey eyes,
fair hair and moustache, and his complexion was a whitey drab. He was
tall--about five feet ten inches--and rather clumsily built; not
corpulent, but fat--in good condition. He appeared to be very well fed
and well cared for generally. His clothes were well made, of good
quality and fitted him perfectly. He was dressed in a grey Norfolk
suit, dark brown boots and knitted woollen stockings reaching to the
knee.

He was a man who took himself very seriously. There was an air of
pomposity and arrogant importance about him which--considering who and
what he was--would have been entertaining to any observer gifted with a
sense of humour.

'Yes,' replied Owen at last. 'I can do a little of that sort of work,
although of course I don't profess to be able to do it as well or as
quickly as a man who does nothing e