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 the orchestra), asserted his authority and put him in the bank. Peter loathed the bank. He hated his work, cutting open envelopes early in the morning, sorting out bills for collection, and then, on his bicycle, making the collections. In the afternoon, an endless task at the adding machine seemed Dantesque and, at night, the sealing of envelopes was even more tiresome than opening them in the morning. There was, however, one mitigating circumstance in connection with the last job of the day, the pleasure afforded by the rich odour of the hot sealing-wax. His pay was $9 a week; he has told me that probably he was not worth it! Fortunately he lived at home and was not asked to pay board. He bought books with the $9 and "silly things." When I asked him what he meant by silly things, he replied: O! Rookwood pottery, and alligators, and tulip bulbs: I don't remember, things like that! One day, he promised his father that he would give up smoking if that one would present him with a gold cigarette-case!

There came a morning when he could not make up his mind to get up. His mother called him several times in vain. He arrived at the bank half an hour late and was reprimanded. His father spoke about his tardiness at lunch. At this period he was inclined to be sulky. He started off on his bicycle in the afternoon but he did not go to the bank. He rode along by the river, stopping at a low saloon in the outlying districts, where the workmen of some