'Come in,' growled Slivers, angrily, when he saw his visitors. 'What
the devil do you want?'

'Work,' said the young man, advancing to the table. 'We are new
arrivals in the country, and were told to come to you to get work.'

'I don't keep a factory,' snarled Slivers, leaning forward.

'I don't think I would come to you if you did,' retorted the
stranger, coolly. 'You would not be a pleasant master either to look
at or to speak to.'

Villiers laughed at this, and Slivers stared dumbfounded at being
spoken to in such a manner.

'Devil,' broke in Billy, rapidly. 'You're a liar--devil.'

'Those, I presume, are your master's sentiments towards me,' said
the young man, bowing gravely to the bird. 'But as soon as he
recovers the use of his tongue, I trust he will tell us if we can
get work or not.'

Slivers was just going to snap out a refusal, when he caught sight
of McIntosh's letter on the table, and this recalled to his mind the
conversation he had with Mr Villiers. Here was a young man handsome
enough to make any woman fall in love with him, and who, moreover,
had a clever tongue in his head. All Slivers' animosity revived
against Madame Midas as he thought of the Devil's Lead, and he
determined to use this young man as a tool to ruin her in the eyes