Mr John Dempster. What would I do, sir? Why, if I were as poor as you say you are, and couldnt get on here, Id go abroad. But where, sir? where to? Anywhere. Dont ask me. The worlds big enough and round enough for you, isnt it? But without means, Mr Dempster? Yes, sir, without means. Work, sir-work. The same as I have done. I pay my poor rate, and I cant afford to help other people. Good morning. I heard every word uttered as I sat on my stool in the outer office, and I felt as if I could see my employer, short, stout, fierce-looking and grey, frowning at the thin, pale, middle-aged man whom I had ushered in-Mr John Dempster he told me his name was-and who had come to ask for the loan of a little money, as he was in sore distress. Every word of his appeal hurt me, and I felt, when the words came through the open door, as if I should have liked to take my hat and go away. But I dared not, for I had been set to copy some letters, and I knew from old experience that if Mr Dempster-Mr Isaac Dempster that is-came out or called for me, and I was not there, I should have a repetition of many a painful scene. I tried not to listen, but every word came, and I heard how unfortunate Mr John Dempster had been; that his wife had been seriously ill, and now needed nourishing food and wine; and as all that was said became mixed up with what I was writing, and the tears would come into my eyes and make them dim, I found myself making mistakes, and left off in despair. I looked cautiously over the double desk, peeping between some books to see if Esau Dean, my fellow boy-clerk, was watching me; but as usual he was asleep with his head hanging down over his blotting-paper, and the sun shining through his pale-coloured knotty curls, which gave his head the appearance of a black mans bleached to a whitey brown; and as I looked through the loop-hole between the books, my fellow-clerks head faded away, and I was looking back at my pleasant old school-days at Wiltboro, from which place I was suddenly summoned home two years before to bid good-bye to my mother before we had to part for ever. TIMOTHYS QUEST. SCENE I. Number Three, Minerva Court. First floor front. FLOSSY MORRISON LEARNS THE SECRET OF DEATH WITHOUT EVER HAVING LEARNED THE SECRET OF LIFE. Minerva Court! Veil thy face, O Goddess of Wisdom, for never, surely, was thy fair name so ill bestowed as when it was applied to this most dreary place! It was a little less than street, a little more than alley, and its only possible claim to decency came from comparison with the busier thoroughfare out of which it opened. This was so much fouler, with its dirt and noise, its stands of refuse fruit and vegetables, its dingy shops and all the miserable traffic that the place engendered, its rickety doorways blocked with lounging men, its Blowsabellas leaning on the window-sills, that the Court seemed by contrast a most desirable and retired place of residence. But it was a dismal spot, nevertheless, with not even an air of faded gentility to recommend it. It seemed to have no better days behind it, nor to hold within itself the possibility of any future improvement. It was narrow, and extended only the length of a city block, yet it was by no means wanting in many of those luxuries which mark this era of modern civilization. There were groceries, with commodious sample-rooms attached, at each corner, and a small saloon,