yourself. Let it wait till you're a bit better off.' Nicholas was
behind the bar, and when Kate had gone he asked his brother if he hadn't
observed something curious in Mrs. Clay's behaviour. Daniel certainly
had; the brothers agreed that she must have been drinking rather more
than was good for her.

'I shouldn't wonder,' said Daniel, 'if she started with the whole o' the
money.'

Which, indeed, was a true conjecture.

Time went on, and Daniel had been six months a licensed victualler. It
was summer once more, and thirsty weather. Daniel stood behind the
bar in his shirt sleeves, collarless for personal ease, with a white
waistcoat, and trousers of light tweed. Across his stomach, which
already was more portly than in his engineering days, swayed a heavy
gold chain; on one of his fingers was a demonstrative ring. His face
and neck were very red; his hair, cropped extremely short, gleamed with
odorous oils. You could see that he prided himself on the spotlessness
of his linen; his cuffs were turned up to avoid alcoholic soilure; their
vast links hung loose for better observance by customers. Daniel was a
smiling and a happy man.

It was early on Sunday evening; Hoxton had shaken itself from the
afternoon slumber, had taken a moderate tea, and was in no two minds
about the entirely agreeable way of getting through the hours till
bedtime. Daniel beamed on the good thirsty souls who sought refuge under
his roof from the still warm rays of the sun. Whilst seeing that no
customer lacked due attention, he conversed genially with a group of
his special friends. One of these had been present at a meeting held
on Clerkenwell Green that morning, a meeting assembled to hear Richard
Mutimer. Richard, a year having passed since his temporary eclipse, was
once more prominent as a popular leader. He was addressing himself to
the East End especially, and had a scheme to propound which, whatever
might be its success or the opposite, kept him well before the eyes of
men.

'What's all this 'ere about?' cried one of the group in an impatiently
contemptuous tone. 'I can't see nothin' in it myself.'

'I can see as he wants money,' observed another, laughing. 'There's a
good many ways o' gettin' money without earnin' it, particular if you've
got a tongue as goes like a steam engine.'

'I don't think so bad of him as all that,' said the man who had attended
the meeting. ''Tain't for himself as he wants the money. What do _you_
think