years that Jonah had worked for him. And he had decided to
leave him, if a job could be found. He stood on the footpath and
surveyed the Road with some anxiety. There were plenty of shops, but
few of them in which he would be welcome, owing to his reputation as
leader of the Push. For years he had been at daggers drawn with the
owners of the three largest shops, and the small fry could barely make
a living for themselves.

The street-arab in him, used to the freedom of a small shop, recoiled
from the thought of Packard's, the huge factory where you became a
machine, repeating one operation indefinitely till you were fit for
nothing else. Paasch had taught him the trade thoroughly, from cutting
out the insoles to running the bead-iron round the finished boot. As a
forlorn hope, he resolved to call on Bob Watkins. Bob, who always
passed the time of day with him, had been laid up with a bad cold for
weeks. He might be glad of some help. Jonah found the shop empty, the
bench and tools covered with dust. Mrs Watkins came in answer to his
knock.

"Bob's done 'is last day's work 'ere," she said, using her
handkerchief. "'E 'ad a terrible cold all the winter, an' at last 'e
got so bad we 'ad to call the doctor in, an' 'e told 'im 'e was in a
gallopin' consumption, an' sent 'im away to some 'ome on the mountains."

"It's no use askin' fer a job, then?" inquired Jonah.

"None at all," said the woman. "Bob neglected the work for a long
time, as 'e was too weak to do it, an' the customers took their work
away. In fact, I'm giving up the shop, an' going back to business. I
was a dressmaker before I got married, and my sister's 'ad more work
than she could do ever since I left 'er. And Bob wrote down last week
to say that I was to sell the lasts and tools for what they would
fetch. And now I think of it, I wish you would run your eye over the
lasts and bench, an' tell me what they ought to fetch. A man offered
me three pounds for the lot, but I know that's too cheap."

"Yer'll niver get wot 'e gave fer 'em, but gimme a piece of paper, an'
I'll work it out," said Jonah.

In half an hour he made a rough inventory based on the cost and present
condition of the material.

"I make it ten pounds odd, but I don't think yer'll git it," he said at
last. "Seven pounds would be a fair offer, money down."

"I'd be thankful to get that," said Mrs Watkins.

Jonah walked thoughtfully up Cardigan Street. Here was the chan