pale, nervous figure with a certain hard disapproval.

"That's a beastly coat you've got on, Dickenson," he said. "Why
don't you get a new one?"

"I am standing in a strong light, sir," the young man answered,
with a new fear at his heart. "It wants brushing, too. I will
endeavour to get a new one - very shortly."

His employer grunted again.

"What's your salary?" he asked.

"Two pounds fifteen shillings a week, sir."

"And you mean to say that you can't dress respectably on that? What
do you do with your money, eh? How do you spend it? Drink and
music-halls, I suppose!"

The young man was able at last to find some spark of dignity. A
pink spot burned upon his cheeks.

"I do not attend music-halls, sir, nor have I touched wine or
spirits for years. I - I have a wife to keep, and perhaps - I
am expecting - "

He stopped abruptly. How could he mention that other matter which,
for all its anxieties, still possessed for him a sort of quickening
joy in the face of that brutal stare. He did not conclude his
sentence, the momentary light died out of his pale commonplace