concealed. The furniture consisted of
a round table, which kept such imperfect balance on its central support
that the lamp entrusted to it looked in a dangerous position, of three
small cane-bottomed chairs, a small wash-hand-stand with sundry rude
appurtenances, and a chair-bedstead which the tenant opened at the hour
of repose and spread with certain primitive trappings at present kept
in a cupboard. There was no bookcase, but a few hundred battered volumes
were arranged some on the floor and some on a rough chest. The weather
was too characteristic of an English spring to make an empty grate
agreeable to the eye, but Biffen held it an axiom that fires were
unseasonable after the first of May.

The individual referred to as Mr Baker, who sat at the table in the
attitude of a student, was a robust, hard-featured, black-haired young
man of two-or three-and-twenty; judging from his weather-beaten cheeks
and huge hands, as well as from the garb he wore, one would have
presumed that study was not his normal occupation. There was something
of the riverside about him; he might be a dockman, or even a bargeman.
He looked intelligent, however, and bore himself with much modesty.

'Now do endeavour to write in shorter sentences,' said Biffen, who sat
down by him and resumed the lesson, Reardon having taken up a volume.
'This isn't bad--it isn't bad at all, I assure you; but you have put all
you had to say into three appalling periods, whereas you ought to have
made about a dozen.'

'There it is, sir; there it is!' exclaimed the man, smoothing his wiry
hair. 'I can't break it up. The thoughts come in a lump, if I may say
so. To break it up--there's the art of compersition.'

Reardon could not refrain from a glance at the speaker, and Biffen,
whose manner was very grave and kindly, turned to his friend with an
explanation of the difficulties with which the student was struggling.

'Mr Baker is preparing for the examination of the outdoor Customs
Department. One of the subjects is English composition, and really, you
know, that isn't quite such a simple matter as some people think.'

Baker beamed upon the visitor with a homely, good-natured smile.

'I can make headway with the other things, sir,' he said, striking the
table lightly with his clenched fist. 'There's handwriting, there's
orthography, there's arithmetic; I'm not afraid of one of 'em, as Mr
Biffen 'll tell you, sir. But when it comes to compersition, that brings