ded by following his advice, "hooking it" before
Mr. Lott arrived. But the next moment I heard the other door open, and
some one entered the private office. Then the bell rang, and Minikin
disappeared, leaving the communicating door ajar behind him. The
conversation that I overheard was as follows:

"Why isn't Mr. Skeat here?"

"Because he hasn't come."

"Where are the letters?"

"Under your nose."

"How dare you answer me like that?"

"Well, it's the truth. They are under your nose."

"Did you give Thorneycroft's man my message?"

"Yes."

"What did he answer?"

"Said you were a liar."

"Oh, he did, did he! What did you reply?"

"Asked him to tell me something I didn't know."

"Thought that clever, didn't you?"

"Not bad."

Whatever faults might be laid to Mr. Lott's door, he at least, I
concluded, possesssed the virtue of self-control.

"Anybody been here?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"Mr. Kelver--Mr. Paul Kelver."

"Kelver, Kelver. Who's Kelver?"

"Know what he is--a fool."

"What do you mean?"

"He's come after the place."

"Is he there?"

"Yes."

"What's he like?"

"Not bad looking; fair--"

"Idiot! I mean is he smart?"

"Just at present--got all his Sunday clothes on."

"Send him in to me. Don't go, don't go."

"How can I send him in to you if I don't go?"

"Take these. Have you finished those bills of lading?"

"No."

"Good God! when will you have finished them?"

"Half an hour after I have begun them."

"Get out, get out! Has that door been open all the time?"

"Well, I don't suppose it's opened itself."

Minikin re-entered with papers in his hand. "In you go," he said.
"Heaven help you!" And I passed in and closed the door behind me.

The room was a replica of the one I had just left. If possible, it was
more crowded, more packed with miscellaneous articles. I picked my
way through these and approached the desk. Mr. Lott was a small,
dingy-looking man, with very dirty hands, and small, restless eyes. I
was glad that he was not imposing, or my shyness might have descended
upon me; as it was, I felt better able to do myself justice. At once he
plunged into the business by seizing and waving in front of my eyes a
bulky bundle of letters tied together with red tape.

"One hundred and seventeen answers to an advertisement," he cried with
evident satisfaction, "in one day! That shows you the state of the
labour market!"

I agreed it was appalling.

"Poor devils, poor