his ideals, and he began to wonder whether, if he had to let slip his
illusions of daily life, he would not also have to modify his religious
convictions.

CHAPTER VIII

THE YOUNG JOURNALIST

WITH the morning, however, Henry was fresh for the fray again. The
prospects of his first day in active journalism swept away all doubts
and misgivings.

Edgar having to attend the Monday police court, which was always fat
with drunks and wife-beaters, Henry was left to make his way to the
_Guardian_ office himself.

On his arrival there he found the office-boy descending the stairs by
using the railing as a slide, at the end of which he fell somewhat
heavily on the door-mat, but picked himself up and smiled at Henry in
proof that no bones were broken. Upstairs, the weedy young man with
downy whiskers, who bore on his narrow shoulders the full weight of the
_Guardian's_ commercial affairs, was at work on the morning's letters.
He looked up as Henry entered, and inquired his business.

"Is Mr. Springthorpe in?" the new reporter asked.

The clerk was surprised for a moment to hear the editor's name
mentioned thus early in the day. Then he answered:

"No, he is rather irregular in his hours. He may not arrive till eleven
or twelve to-day!"

"It's only ten o'clock now," said Henry, as though he were thinking
aloud. He would never try to play Monte Cristo again, and Winton had
told him that Mr. Springthorpe was never assiduous in his office
attendance.

"But I expect Mr. Yardley soon," the clerk continued. "Are you Mr.
Charles?"

"Yes. Shall I go to the reporters' room?"

The clerk opened the door for him, and he entered on the scene of his
future labours. A long table of plain wood, cut and hacked by knives on
the edges, stood in the centre of the floor, and around it were four
cane-chairs, all of different shapes. The floor was covered by worn-out
oilcloth, the walls were dingy, the ceilings blistered like a
water-biscuit. A single gasalier, carrying two burners, hung from the
roof and served to light the table, on which lay a few bundles of
copy-paper, two ink-pots, and some pens. The only other furniture in the
room was a small bookcase half-filled with volumes, most of which were
tattered, and some without binding, having reached that condition, not
so much from frequent reference as from occasional use in a game wherein
the reportorial staff tried to