"Who am I, sir? Where am I?" whined Smith. "Can you please tell me
who I am and where I am?"

The boss drew a long breath and stared blankly at the Mystery; then he
erupted.

"Now, look here!" he howled, "I don't know who the gory sheol you
are, except that you're a gory lunatic, and what's more, I don't care
a damn. But I'll soon show you where you are! You can call up at the
store and get your cheque, and soon as you blessed well like; and then
take a walk, and don't forget to take your lovely swag with you."

The matter was discussed at the dinner-table. The Oracle swore that
it was a cruel, mean way to treat a "pore afflicted chap," and
cursed the boss. Tom's admirers cursed in sympathy, and trouble
seemed threatening, when the voice of Mitchell was heard to rise in
slow, deliberate tones over the clatter of cutlery and tin plates.

"I wonder," said the voice, "I wonder whether Smith forgot his
cheque?"

It was ascertained that Smith hadn't.

There was some eating and thinking done. Soon Mitchell's voice was
heard again, directed at The Oracle.

It said "Do you keep any vallabels about your bunk, Oracle?"

Tom looked hard at Mitchell. "Why?"