thoughts began to turn in a different direction, and on reaching the
end of Upper Kennington Lane he settled the matter by striking
towards Vauxhall Station. A short railway journey and another
pleasant saunter brought him to a street off Battersea Park Road,
and to a china shop, over which stood the name of Clover.

In the window hung a card with an inscription in bold letters:
"Glass, china, and every kind of fashionable ornament for the table
for hire on moderate terms." Mr. Gammon read this with an
appreciative smile, which. accompanied by a nod, became a greeting
to Mrs. Clover, who was aware of him from within the shop. He
entered.

"How does it go?"

"Two teas and a supper yesterday. A wedding breakfast this morning."

"Bravo! What did I tell you? You'll want a bigger place before the
end of the year."

The shop was well stocked, the window well laid out; everything
indicated a flourishing, though as yet a small, business. Mrs.
Clover, a neat, comely, and active woman, with a complexion as clear
as that of her own best china, chatted vivaciously with the visitor,
whilst she superintended the unpacking of a couple of crates by a
muscular youth and a young lady (to use the technical term), her
shop assistant.

"Why are you off to-day?" she inquired presently, after moving to
the doorway for more private talk.