taken place on the front doorstep of Galloway House, and without
occupying much more than five minutes in the transaction. How did
Jeffreys know what sort of person Mrs Trimble was? She might have been
a Fury or a Harpy. Her house might have been badly drained. Mr Fison
might have left her because he couldn't get his wages. And what did
Mrs Trimble know about the Bolsover cad? She never even asked for a
testimonial. He might be a burglar in disguise, or a murderer, or a
child-eater. And yet these two foolish people struck a bargain with one
another five minutes after their first introduction, and before even the
potatoes which Mrs Trimble had left on her plate when she went to the
door had had time to get cold.

I am just as much surprised as the reader at their rashness, which I can
only account for by supposing that they were both what the reader would
call "hard up." Jeffreys, as we know, was very hard up; and as for Mrs
Trimble, the amount of worry she had endured since Mr Fison had left
was beyond all words. She had had to teach as well as manage, the thing
she never liked. And her son and assistant, without a second usher to
keep him steady, had been turning her hair grey. For three weeks she
had waited in vain. Several promising-looking young men had come and
looked at the place and then gone away. She had not been able to enjoy
an afternoon's nap for a month. In short, she was getting worn-out.
When, therefore, Jeffreys came and asked for the post, she had to put a
check on herself to prevent herself from "jumping down his throat."
Hence the rapid conference at the hall door, and the ease with which
Jeffreys got his footing in Galloway House.

"Come and have a bite of mutton," said Mrs Trimble, leading the way
into the parlour. "Jonah and I are just having dinner."

Jonah, who, if truth must be told, had been neglecting his inner man
during the last five minutes in order to peep through the crack of the
door, and overhear the conference in the hall between his mother and the
stranger, was a vulgar-looking youth of about Jeffrey's age, with a
slight cast in his eye, but otherwise not bad-looking. He eyed the new
usher as he entered with a mingled expression of suspicion and contempt;
and Jeffreys, slow of apprehension though he usually was, knew at a
glance that he had not fallen on a bed of roses at Galloway House.

"Jonah, this is Mr Jeffreys; I've taken him on in Fison's place. My
son, Mr