"For us, sir?" said the shocked Wickes. "For themselves, surely. What
would they do for a living if there was no work?"

"That's just it, Wickes. They get a living--is it worth while?"

"But, sir," gasped the old man, "they must live, and--"

"Why must they?"

"Because they want to! Wait till you see 'em sick, sir. My word! They do
make haste for the Doctor."

"I fancy they do, Wickes. But all the same, I don't wonder that they
grouch a bit."

"'Tis not the grumbling, sir, I deplore," said Wickes, "if they would
only work, or let the machines work. That's the trouble, sir. Why, sir,
when I came to your father, sir, we never looked at the clock, we kept
our minds on the work."

"How long ago, Wickes?"

"Thirty-one years, sir, come next Michaelmas. And glad I was to get the
job, too. You see, sir, I had just come to the country, and with the
missus and a couple of kids--"

"Thirty-one years! Great Caesar! And you've worked at this desk for
thirty-one years! And what have you got out of it?"

"Well, sir, not what you might call a terrible lot. I hadn't the
eddication for much, as you might say--but--well, there's my little
home, and we've lived happy there, the missus and me, and the kids--at
least, till the war came." The old man paused abruptly.

"You're right, Wickes, by Jove," exclaimed Jack, starting from his seat
and gripping the old man's hand. "You have made a lot out of it--and you
gave as fine a boy as ever stepped in uniform to your country. We were
all proud of Stephen, every man of us."

"I know that, sir, and he often wrote the wife about you, sir, which we
don't forget, sir. Of course, it's hard on her and the boys--just coming
up to be somethin' at the school."

"By the way, Wickes, how are they doing? Two of them, aren't there?
Let's see--there's Steve, he's the eldest--"

"No, sir, he's the youngest, sir. Robert is the eldest--fourteen, and
quite clever at his books. Pity he's got to quit just now."

"Quit? Not a bit of it. We must see to that. And little Steve--how is
the back?"

"He's twelve. The back hurts a lot, but he is happy enough, if you give
him a pencil. They're all with us now."

"Ah, well, well. I think you have made something out of it after all,
Wickes. And we must see about Robert."

Thirty-one years at the desk! And to show for it a home for his wife and
himself, a daughter in a home of her own, a son dead for his country,
leaving behind him a wife and two lads to