That home was in the town illuminated by Mr. Chadwick's commercial and
municipal brilliance; over a small draper's shop in one of the outskirt
streets stood the name of Humplebee the draper. About sixty years of age,
he had known plenty of misfortune and sorrows, with scant admixture of
happiness. Nowadays things were somewhat better with him; by dint of severe
economy he had put aside two or three hundred pounds, and he was able,
moreover, to give his son (an only child) what is called a sound education.
In the limited rooms above the shop there might have been a measure of
quiet content and hopefulness, but for Mrs. Humplebee. She, considerably
younger than her husband, fretted against their narrow circumstances, and
grudged the money that was being spent--wasted, she called it--on the boy
Harry.

From his father Harry never heard talk of pecuniary troubles, but the
mother lost no opportunity of letting him know that they were poor,
miserably poor; and adding, that if he did not work hard at school he was
simply a cold-hearted criminal, and robbed his parents of their bread.

But during the last month or two a change had come upon the household. One
day the draper received a visit from the great Mr. Chadwick, who told a
wonderful story of Harry's heroism, and made proposals sounding so nobly
generous that Mr. Humplebee was overcome with gratitude.

Harry, as his father knew, had no vocation for the shop; to get him a place
in a manufacturer's office seemed the best thing that could be aimed at,
and here was Mr. Chadwick talking of easy book-keeping, quick advancement,
and all manner of vaguely splendid possibilities in the future. The
draper's joy proved Mrs. Humplebee's opportunity. She put forward a project
which had of late been constantly on her mind and on her lips, to wit, that
they should transfer their business into larger premises, and give