The newspaper left him time for other literary work, and it was
known to a few people that he wrote with some regularity for
reviews, but all the products of his pen were anonymous. A fact
which remained his own secret was that he provided for the
subsistence of his parents, old people domiciled in a quiet corner
of their native Kingsmill. The strict sobriety of life which is
indispensable to success in such a career as this cost him no
effort. He smoked moderately, ate and drank as little as might be,
could keep his health on six hours of sleep, and for an occasional
holiday liked to walk his twenty or thirty miles. Earwaker was
naturally marked for survival among the fittest.

On an evening of June in the year '84, he was interrupted whilst
equipping himself for dinner abroad, by a thunderous rat-tat-tat.

'You must wait, my friend, whoever you are,' he murmured placidly,
as he began to struggle with the stiff button-holes of his shirt.

The knock was repeated, and more violently.

'Now there's only one man of my acquaintance who knocks like that,'
he mused, elaborating the bow of his white tie. 'He, I should
imagine, is in Brazil; but there's no knowing. Perhaps our office is
on fire.--Anon, anon!'

He made baste to don waistcoat and swallow-tail, then crossed his
sitting-room and flung open the door of the chambers.

'Ha! Then it ~is~ you! I was reminded of your patient habits.'