e sat the four clerks of the establishment on four tall
stools, writing in four monstrous volumes, as furiously as if they were
decayed authors whose lives depended on the result. Their salaries did,
poor fellows, and that was much the same thing!

A glass door, with scratches here and there, through which the head of
the firm could gaze unseen, separated "the office" from Denham's room,
and a wooden door separated that from Crumps' room, beyond which there
was a small closet or cell which had been Company's room before that
gentleman died. It was now used as a repository for ancient books and
papers.

"Very odd," said Mr Denham, and as he said so he touched a small silver
bell that stood on his writing-table.

The tiger in blue and buttons instantly appeared.

"Here, Peekins, post these letters. Has no one called this afternoon; I
mean, no one resembling a sailor?"

The boy in blue started, and his face became very red.

"Why, what's the matter, boy? What do you mean by staring at me,
instead of answering my question?"

"Please, sir," stammered Peekins meekly, "I didn't mean no 'arm, sir,
but you see, sir, his face was so drefful fierce, and he looked sich a
wild--"

"Boy, are you mad?" interrupted Mr Denham, advancing and seizing the
tiger by his blue collar; "what are you talking about? Now, answer my
question at once, else I'll shake the little life you have out of your
body. Did any sailor-like man call at the office this afternoon?"

"Oh, sir, yes, sir,--I--I--thought he was drunk and wouldn't let 'im in,
sir; he's bin a standin' stampin' at the door for more than--"

The end of the sentence was cut short by Mr Denham suddenly ejecting
the boy from the room and shouting, "Let him in!"

In a few seconds a heavy tread was heard in the outer office, and the
boy ushered in a tall young man, of unusually large proportions, with
extremely broad shoulders, and apparently about twenty-three years of
age, whose rough pilot-coat, wide pantaloons, and glazed hat bespoke him
a sailor. His countenance was flushed, and an angry frown contracted
his brow as he strode into the room, pulled off his hat and stood before
the head of the house of Denham, Crumps, and Company.

"I beg pardon, sir," began the sailor, somewhat sharply, yet without
disrespect, "when I am asked to come--"

"Yes, yes, Bax," interposed Mr Denham, "I know what you would say.
Pray calm yourself. It is a pity you should have been kept wai