mpire on his shoulders, and looked very, very sorry for himself.
He was dressed as if he had to be a pall-bearer that day, but that was
his ordinary attire. He looked sharply from the old man to Evan.

"Who is this, Papa?" he demanded with the air of a school-master
catching a boy red-handed.

The old man cringed. "This--this is a young man."

"So I see."

"Well, I--I didn't exactly ask him his name."

"Evan Weir," spoke up the young man for himself.

"He came home with me," said Deaves. "There was a little trouble."

The younger Deaves was horrified. "Another disgraceful street scene!"
he cried. Addressing Evan he said: "Please tell me exactly what
happened." He glanced nervously over his shoulder. "But not here.
Come up to my library."

He led the way up-stairs, across another and a loftier hall with an
imitation groined ceiling, and into a large room at the back of the
house, which by virtue of a case of morocco bound books, clearly not
often disturbed, was the library. The young man flung himself into a
chair behind an immense flat-topped desk and waved his hand to Evan
with an air that seemed to say: "Now tell me the worst!" Between the
two, Evan's sympathies were with the father.

He was not invited to sit. He told his story briefly, making out the
best case that he could for the old man. The latter was not insensible
to the favour. His little eyes twinkled. The young man became
gloomier and gloomier as the story progressed.

"We shall hear more of this!" he said tragically.

The old man pished and pshawed. "I offered him a steady job," he said,
"to go round with me. But his notions are too grand."

"Why, that would be a very suitable arrangement," his son said
pompously. "How much do you want?" he asked of Evan.

"Fifty dollars a week."

"That's ridiculous!" young Deaves said loftily. "I'll give you
twenty-five."

The scene of down-stairs was continued, with this difference that the
son was not so naive as the father. Evan kept up his end with firmness
and good-humour. After all there was some fun in contending with such
passionate bargainers, and he saw that for some reason the son was more
anxious to get hold of him than the father. They finally compromised
on forty dollars a week, provided Evan's references were satisfactory.
Simeon Deaves was scandalised.

"It's too much! too much!" he repeated. "It will turn his head
completely!"

CHAPTER III

SNOOPING

Yo