BY ANGELO LEWIS





It was the eve of Good Friday. Within the modest parlour of No. 13
Primrose Terrace a little man, wearing a gray felt hat and a red
neck-tie, stood admiring himself in the looking-glass over the
mantelpiece. Such a state of things anywhere else would have had no
significance whatever; but circumstances proverbially alter cases.
At 13 Primrose Terrace it approached the dimensions of a portent.

Not to keep the reader in suspense, the little man was Benjamin Quelch,
clerk in the office of Messrs. Cobble & Clink, coal merchants, and
he was about to carry out a desperate resolution. Most men have
some secret ambition; Benjamin's was twofold. For years he had
yearned to wear a soft felt hat and to make a trip to Paris, and
for years Fate, in the person of Mrs. Quelch, had stood in the way
and prevented the indulgence of his longing. Quelch being, as we
have hinted, exceptionally small of stature, had, in accordance
with mysterious law of opposites, selected the largest lady of his
acquaintance as the partner of his joys. He himself was of a meek
and retiring disposition. Mrs. Quelch, on the other hand, was
a woman of stern and decided temperament, with strong views upon
most subjects. She administered Benjamin's finances, regulated his
diet, and prescribed for him when his health was out order. Though
fond of him in her own way, she ruled him with a rod of iron, and
on three points she was inflexible. To make up for his insignificance