likelihood of a customer to interfere with his confidential chat with Mr.
Nathan Smith, who was listening with an aspect of great severity to his
explanations.

"It ought not to 'ave happened," he said, sharply. "It was Teddy done
it," said Mr. Kybird, humbly.

[Illustration: "'It was Teddy done it,' said Mr. Kybird, humbly."]

Mr. Smith shrugged his shoulders. "It wouldn't 'ave happened if I'd been
there," he observed, arrogantly.

"I don't see 'ow" began Mr. Kybird.

"No, o' course you don't," said his friend. "Still, it's no use making a
fuss now. The thing is done. One thing is, I don't suppose it'll make
any diff----"

"Difference," suggested Mr. Kybird, after waiting for him to finish.

"Difference," said Mr. Smith, with an obvious effort. His face had lost
its scornful expression and given way to one almost sheepish in its
mildness. Mr. Kybird, staring at him in some surprise, even thought that
he detected a faint shade of pink.

"We ain't all as clever as wot you are, Nat," he said, somewhat taken
aback at this phenomenon. "It wouldn't do."

Mr. Smith made a strange noise in his throat and turned on him sharply.
Mr. Kybird, still staring in surprise at his unwonted behaviour, drew
back a little, and then his lips parted and his eyes grew round as he saw
the cause of his friend's concern. An elderly gentleman with a neatly
trimmed white beard and a yellow rose in his button-hole was just passing
on the other side of the road. His tread was elastic, his figure as
upright as a boy's, and he swung a light cane in his hand as he walked.
As Mr. Kybird gazed he bestowed a brisk nod upon the bewildered Mr.
Smith, and crossed the road with the evident intention of speaking to
him.

"How do, Smith?" he said, in a kindly voice.

The boarding-master leaned against the shop-window and regarded him
dumbly. There was a twinkle in the shipbroker's eyes which irritated him
almost beyond endurance, and in the doorway Mr. Kybird--his face mottled
with the intensity of his emotions--stood an unwelcome and frantic
witness of his shame.

"You're not well, Smith?" said Mr. Swann, shaking his head at him gently.
"You look like a man who has been doing too much brain-work lately.
You've been getting the better of some-body, I know."

Mr. Smith gasped and, eyeing him wickedly, strove hard to recover his
self-possession.

"I'm all right, sir," he said, in a thin voice. "I'm glad to see you're
looking a trifle