With a wild curse he sped to the house, he rushed to the tradesman’s door.  The medicine just delivered!  He must examine it—­he feared there was a mistake—­an extraordinary oversight.

The bottle had not yet been upstairs.  Mr. Farmiloe tore off the wrapper, wrenched out the cork, sniffed—­and smiled feebly.

’Thank you.  I’m glad to find there was no mistake.  I’ll take it back, and have it wrapped up again, and send it immediately—­immediately.  And, by the bye’—­he fumbled in his pocket for half-a-crown, still smiling like a detected culprit—­’I’m sure you won’t mention this little affair.  A new assistant of mine—­stupid fellow—­I am going to get rid of him at once.  Thank you, thank you.’

Notwithstanding that half-crown the incident was, of course, talked of through the house before a quarter of an hour had elapsed.  Next day it was the gossip of the suburbs; and the day after the city itself heard the story.  People were alarmed and scandalised.  Why, such a chemist was a public danger!  One lady declared that he ought at once to be ’struck off the roll!’

And so in a sense he was.  Another month and the flowery, bowery little suburb knew him no more.  He hid himself in a great town, living on the wreck of his fortune whilst he sought a place as an assistant.  A leaky pair of boots and a bad east wind found the vulnerable spot of his constitution.  After all, there was just enough money left to bury him.

TOPHAM’S CHANCE

CHAPTER I

On a summer afternoon two surly men sat together in a London lodging.  One of them occupied an easy-chair, smoked a cigarette, and read the newspaper; the other was seated at the table, with a mass of papers before him, on which he laboured as though correcting exercises.  They were much of an age, and that about thirty, but whereas the idler was well dressed, his companion had a seedy appearance and looked altogether like a man who neglected himself.  For half an hour they had not spoken.

Of a sudden the man in the chair jumped up.

‘Well, I have to go into town,’ he said gruffly, ’and it’s uncertain when I shall be back.  Get that stuff cleared off, and reply to the urgent letters—­mind you write in the proper tone to Dixon—­as soapy as you can make it.  Tell Miss Brewer we can’t reduce the fees, but that we’ll give her credit for a month.  Guarantee the Leicestershire fellow a pass if he begins at once.’

The other, who listened, bit the end of his wooden penholder to splinters.

‘All right,’ he replied.  ‘But, look here, I want a little money.’

‘So do I.’

’Yes, but you’re not like me, without a coin in your pocket.  Look here, give me half-a-crown.  I have absolute need of it.  Why, I can’t even get my hair cut.  I’m sick of this slavery.’

‘Then go and do better,’ cried the well-dressed man insolently.  ’You were glad enough of the job when I offered it to you.  It’s no good your looking to me for money.  I can do no more myself than just live; and as soon as I see a chance, you may be sure I shall clear out of this rotten business.’