having such a name, the man was always spoken
of in just that way.

'I pretty near bruk my back finishing Mannasseh Ford's paddick last
night,' explained Ted moodily. 'There was three days' fair work left
in it when I got there in the morning. But I meant gettin' shut of it,
an' I did. Mannasseh Ford opened his eyes pretty wide when I called up
for me money las' night, an' he looked over the paddick. Wanted to
take me on regler, he did; pounder week an' all found, he said. I
thanked him kindly, him an' his pounder week! Well, he said he'd make
it twenty-five shillin', an' I thanked him for that.'

Thanks clearly meant refusal with Ted, and I confess he rose higher in
my esteem somehow, for the fact that he could actually refuse what to
me seemed like wealth. I recalled the fact that my father had paid Ted
exactly half this amount, and had found him quite willing to stay with
us for half that again, or even for occasional tobacco money. Perhaps
there was a mercenary vein in me at the time. I think it likely. The
talk of my fellow orphans was largely of wages, and materialism
dominated the atmosphere in which I lived. I know this refusal of
twenty-five shillings a week and 'all found' struck me as tolerably
reckless; splendid, in a way, but somewhat foolhardy, and I hinted as
much to Ted.

'Och, bother him an' his twenty-five shillin'!' said Ted. 'Just
because I cleared his old paddick, he thinks I'm a workin' bullick. He
offered me thirty shillin' after, if ye come to that; an' I told him
he hadn't money enough in the bank to keep me. Neither has he.'

'But, Ted,' I urged, 'why not? It's good money, and you've got to work
somewhere.'

'Aye,' said Ted, his constraint lifting for a moment to admit the
right vagabondish twinkle into his blue eyes. 'Somewhere! An'
sometimes. But not there, mate, an' not all the time, thank ye; not
me. It's all right for Mannasseh Ford; but, spare me days, I'd sooner
be in me grave.'

I pondered this for a time, while a voice within me kept on repeating
with sickening certainty: 'He's going away; he's going away. You've
lost your friend; you've lost your friend.' And then, as one thrusts a
foot into cold water before taking a plunge: 'Well, then, what shall
you do, Ted?' I asked him. But, for the moment, I was not to have the
plunge.

'Oh, if ye come to that,' he said, weakly smiling, 'I've money in
hand, an' to spare. Look at the wealth o' me.' And he drew out for my
edification a