poet at the same time? No go, my boy. If you take up business, you
drop poetising. Those two horses never yet pulled at the same shaft,
and never will."

Mr. Woodstock pondered for a few moments. He thrust out his great
legs with feet crossed on the fender, and with his hands jingled
coin in his trouser-pockets.

"I tell you what," he suddenly began. "There's only one thing I know
of at present that you're likely to be able to do. Suppose I gave
you the job of collecting my rents down east."

"Weekly rents?"

"Weekly. It's a rough quarter, and they're a shady lot of customers.
You wouldn't find the job over-pleasant, but you might try, eh?"

"What would it bring me in,--to go at once to the point?"

"The rents average twenty-five pounds. Your commission would be
seven per cent. You might reckon, I dare say, on five-and-thirty
shillings a week."

"What is the day for collecting?"

"Mondays; but there's lots of 'em you'd have to look up several
times in a week. If you like I'll go round myself on Tuesday--
Easter Monday's no good--and you can come with me."

"I will go, by all means," exclaimed Waymark