t is never pleasant when a fellow has held an office of trust to have
it coolly taken from him and handed to another. In this case no one
would suspect it meant any lack of confidence; for Doubleday, even his
enemies admitted, was as honest as the Bank of England; but it meant
elevating another at his expense, which did not seem exactly fair.

"If the darling's such a big pot in the office," growled Doubleday,
"they'd better make him head clerk at once, and let me run his errands
for him."

"Never mind," said I, "it'll be so much less work for you."

"Yes, and a pretty mess the accounts will get into, to make up for it."

Hawkesbury entered at this moment, smiling most beautifully.

"How punctual you two are!" said he.

"Need to be punctual," growled Doubleday, "when I've got to hand you
over the petty cash."

"Oh!" said Hawkesbury; "the petty cash? My uncle was saying something
about my keeping it. I think it's a pity he couldn't let it stay where
it was; you're so much more used to it than I am. Besides, I've plenty
of work to do without it."

"I suppose I shall get some of your work to do for you," said
Doubleday--"that is, if I'm competent!"

Hawkesbury laughed softly, as if it were a joke, and Doubleday relapsed
into surly silence.

It was still some minutes before the other clerks were due. Hawkesbury
used the interval in conversing amiably with me in a whisper.

"I'm afraid Doubleday's put out," said he. "You know, he's a very good
sort of fellow; but, between you and me, don't you think he's a trifle
too unsteady?"

What could I say? I certainly could not call Doubleday steady, as a
rule, and yet I disliked to have to assent to Hawkesbury's question.
"He's very steady in business," I said.

"Yes; but at other times I'm afraid he's not," said Hawkesbury. "Not
that I'm blaming him. But of course, when a fellow's extravagant, and
all that, it _is_ a temptation, isn't it?"

"Do you mean a temptation to be dishonest?"

"Well, it's rather a strong way of putting it. I don't suppose for a
moment Doubleday is not perfectly trustworthy; no more does my uncle."

"I should think not," said I, rather warmly.

"Of course not," said he, sweetly; "but you know, Batchelor, prevention
is better than cure, and it seems the kindest thing, doesn't it, to put
temptation quite out of a fellow's reach when one can?"

"But," observed I, "it seems to me you are taking it out of Doubleday's
reach and putti