patience, and he did not doubt that after a while they would grow tired
of annoying him. At all events, he felt certain some new policy would be
adopted by them; for he had so risen in the estimation of his employer,
who began to repose confidence in him, and entrust him with more
important matters than he allowed the others to interfere with, that
George anticipated the time when the clerks would either be glad to
curry favour with him, or at least have to acknowledge that he was
regarded more highly than they were.

So matters went on. Mrs. Weston was full of joy as she saw how well
George had kept his resolutions, and full of hope that he would continue
as he had begun.

Mr. Brunton had given him many kind encouragements during this time, and
had felt himself well rewarded for all his trouble on George's behalf
by hearing from Mr. Compton of the satisfaction his services had given.

And now an event occurred, simple and unimportant in itself, and yet it
was one that affected the whole of George's after-life.

One evening, as he was leaving the office, and had just turned into
Fleet-street, a nice-looking, fashionably-dressed young man came running
up, and, clapping him on the shoulder, exclaimed,

"What! George Weston, my old pippin, who ever thought of turning you up
in London!"

"Harry Ashton! my old school-chum, how are you?" and the two friends
shook hands with a heartiness that surprised the passers-by.