Dan went in after him.

“Drat his luck!” said one of the rejected candidates, “he always gets the job.”  The rest then dispersed.

Tucker was shown into a pitch-dark room, and there a bargain was struck between him and men unseen.  He and two more were to go to Cairnhope, and do Little.  He was to avoid all those men who had lately stood at the door with him, and was to choose for his companions Simmons the grinder, and one Sam Cole, a smooth, plausible fellow, that had been in many a dark job, unsuspected even by his wife and family, who were respectable.

Thus instructed, Tucker went to the other men, and soon reported to Grotait that he had got Cole all right, but that Simmons looked coldly on the job.  He was in full work, for one thing, and said Little had had his squeak already, and he didn’t see following him eleven miles off; he had, however, asked him whether Little had a wife and children, which question he, Tucker, could not answer.

“But I can,” said Grotait.  “He is a bachelor.  You can tell Simmons so.  There are reasons why Ned Simmons must be in this.  Try him to-morrow at dinner-time.  Bid two pounds more; and—­his wife is near her time—­tell him this job will help him buy her wine and things,” said the kind, parental, diabolical Grotait.

Next morning Henry worked with the pen for Dr. Amboyne till twelve o’clock.  He then, still carrying out his friend’s views, went down to Mr Cheetham’s words to talk to Simmons.

But he found an ill-looking fellow standing by the man’s side, and close at his ear.  This was no other than Dan Tucker, who by a neat coincidence was tempting him to do Little.

Yesterday’s conversation had unsettled Simmons, and he did not come to work till twelve o’clock.  He then fixed a small pulley-wheel to his grindstone, to make up for lost time.

He was still resisting the tempter, but more faintly than yesterday, when Little came in, and spoke to him.  Both he and Dan were amazed at his appearance on the scene at that particular moment.  They glared stupidly but said nothing.

“Look here, Simmons,” said Little.  “I have been to your friend Grotait, and asked him to pay you for what you call time lost in hanging and racing a new stone.  He won’t do it.  That’s your friend.  Now I’m your enemy; so the Union says.  Well, enemy or not, I’ll do what Grotait won’t.  I’ll pay you the four shillings for lost time, if you will stop that stone at once, and hang another.”

“Why, what’s wrong with the stone?”

“The best judge in Hillsborough condemned it; and now, if you are not running it with an undersized pulley-wheel, to try it worse!”

Simmons got stupid and irritated between the two.  His bit of manhood revolted against Little’s offer, made whilst he was half lending his ear to Tucker’s proposal; and, on the other hand, that very offer irritated him with Tucker, for coming and tempting him to do this very Little, who was a good sort.