"That's right: I've been looking forward to it," said his friend
heartily. "And now, haven't you anything to tell me? Are you alone
here? Then, what the deuce do you do with yourself?"

"Chiefly meditate."

"You're the rummest fellow I ever knew. I've wanted to write to you,
but--hang it!--what with hot weather and brass bedsteads, and
this and that----Now, what _are_ you going to do? Your money won't
last for ever. Haven't you any projects? It was no good talking
about it before you left Dudley. I saw that. You were all but fit
for a lunatic asylum, and no wonder. But you've pulled round, I see.
Never saw you looking in such condition. What is to be the next
move?"

"I have no idea."

"Well, now, _I_ have. This fellow Birching is partner with his
brother, in Brum, and they're tolerably flourishing. I've thought of
you ever since I came to know him; I think it was chiefly on your
account that I got thick with him--though there was another reason
I'll tell you about that some time. Now, why shouldn't you go into
their office? Could you manage to pay a small premium? I believe I
could square it with them. I haven't said anything. I never hurry--
like things to ripen naturally. Suppose you saw your way, in a year
or two, to make only as much in an architect's office as you did in
that----machine-shop, wouldn't it be worth while?"

Hilliard mused. Already he had a flush on his cheek, but his eyes
sensibly brightened.