es shut. He may go to his bookshelves and count his books,
ranging them in order of their size; or to his wardrobe and count his
shirts, laying them in piles of two or three on the bed, as they suffer
from frayed cuffs or lost buttons.

Even this entertainment wearies after a time; and all the times are
very, very long.

Dick was allowed to sort a tool-chest where Mr. Beeton kept hammers,
taps and nuts, lengths of gas-pipes, oil-bottles, and string.

'If I don't have everything just where I know where to look for it, why,
then, I can't find anything when I do want it. You've no idea, sir, the
amount of little things that these chambers uses up,' said Mr. Beeton.

Fumbling at the handle of the door as he went out: 'It's hard on you,
sir, I do think it's hard on you. Ain't you going to do anything, sir?'

'I'll pay my rent and messing. Isn't that enough?'

'I wasn't doubting for a moment that you couldn't pay your way, sir; but
I 'ave often said to my wife, "It's 'ard on 'im because it isn't as
if he was an old man, nor yet a middle-aged one, but quite a young
gentleman. That's where it comes so 'ard."'

'I suppose so,' said Dick, absently. This particular nerve through long
battering had ceased to feel--much.

'I was thinking,' continued Mr. Beeton, still making as if to go, 'that
you might like to hear my boy Alf read you the papers sometimes of an
evening. He do read beautiful, seeing he's only nine.'

'I should be very grateful,' said Dick. 'Only let me make it worth his
while.'

'We wasn't thinking of that, sir, but of course it's in your own 'ands;
but only to 'ear Alf sing "A Boy's best Friend is 'is Mother!" Ah!'

'I'll hear him sing that too. Let him come this evening with the
newspapers.'

Alf was not a nice child, being puffed up with many school-board
certificates for good conduct, and inordinately proud of his singing.
Mr.

Beeton remained, beaming, while the child wailed his way through a song
of some eight eight-line verses in the usual whine of a young Cockney,
and, after compliments, left him to read Dick the foreign telegrams. Ten
minutes later Alf returned to his parents rather pale and scared.

''E said 'e couldn't stand it no more,' he explained.

'He never said you read badly, Alf?' Mrs. Beeton spoke.

'No. 'E said I read beautiful. Said 'e never 'eard any one read like
that, but 'e said 'e couldn't abide the stuff in the papers.'

'P'raps he's lost some money in the Stocks. Were