enewal of their relations as employer
and clerk would make no difference in the friendly intercourse which
had since been established; the invitation to lunch evidently had this
purpose.

'I suppose,' said Carter, when they were seated in a restaurant, 'you
wouldn't object to anything better, if a chance turned up?'

'I should take it, to be sure.'

'But you don't want a job that would occupy all your time? You're going
on with writing, of course?'

'Not for the present, I think.'

'Then you would like me to keep a look-out? I haven't anything in
view--nothing whatever. But one hears of things sometimes.'

'I should be obliged to you if you could help me to anything
satisfactory.'

Having brought himself to this admission, Reardon felt more at ease. To
what purpose should he keep up transparent pretences? It was manifestly
his duty to earn as much money as he could, in whatever way. Let the
man of letters be forgotten; he was seeking for remunerative employment,
just as if he had never written a line.

Amy did not return the ten pounds, and did not write again. So,
presumably, she would accept the moiety of his earnings; he was glad
of it. After paying half-a-crown for rent, there would be left ten
shillings. Something like three pounds that still remained to him he
would not reckon; this must be for casualties.

Half-a-sovereign was enough for his needs; in the old times he had
counted it a competency which put his mind quite at rest.

The day came, and he entered upon his duties in City Road. It needed but
an hour or two, and all the intervening time was cancelled; he was
back once more in the days of no reputation, a harmless clerk, a decent
wage-earner.

CHAPTER XX. THE END OF WAITING

It was more than a fortnight after Reardon's removal to Islington when
Jasper Milvain heard for the first time of what had happened. He was
coming down from the office of the Will-o'-the-Wisp one afternoon,
after a talk with the editor concerning a paragraph in his last week's
causerie which had been complained of as libellous, and which would
probably lead to the 'case' so much desired by everyone connected with
the paper, when someone descending from a higher storey of the building
overtook him and laid a hand on his shoulder. He turned and saw
Whelpdale.

'What brings you on these premises?' he asked, as they shook hands.

'A man I know has just been made sub-editor of Chat, upstairs. He has
half promised to