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 final coat. He was at his old tricks. The woodwork of the cupboard he was doing was in a rather damaged condition, and he was facing up the dents with white lead putty before painting it. He knew quite well that Hunter objected to any but very large holes or cracks being stopped, and yet somehow or other he could not scamp the work to the extent that he was ordered to; and so, almost by stealth, he was in the habit of doing it—not properly—but as well as he dared. He even went to the length of occasionally buying a few sheets of glasspaper with his own money, as Crass had told Hunter. When the latter came into the room he stood with a sneer on his face, watching Newman for about five minutes before he spoke.

'You can make out yer time sheet and come to the office for yer money at five o'clock,' said Nimrod at last, 'we shan't require your valuable services no more after to-night.'

Newman went white.

'Why, what's wrong?' said he. 'What have I done?'

'Oh, it's not wot you've done,' replied Misery, 'it's wot you've not done. That's wot's wrong! You've not done enough, that's all!' And without further parley, he turned and went out.

Newman stood in the darkening room feeling as if his heart had turned to lead. There rose before his mind the picture of his home and family. He could see them as they were at this very moment, the wife probably just beginning to prepare the evening meal and the children setting the cups and saucers and other things on the kitchen table—a noisy work, enlivened with many a frolic and childish dispute. Even the two year old baby insisted on helping and they had all been so happy lately because they knew that he had work that would last till nearly Christmas, if not longer. And now this had happened, to plunge them back into that abyss of wretchedness from which they had so recently escaped. They still owed several weeks' rent, and were already so much in debt to the baker and the grocer that it was hopeless to expect any further credit.

'My God!' said Newman, realising the almost utter hopelessness of the chance of obtaining another 'job,' and unconciouslyunconsciously [sic] speaking aloud. 'My God! how can I tell them? What will become of us?'

When the men realised that Hunter had gone, they began 136