In spite of his inclination to laugh, Will kept a grave countenance.

“I’m afraid that kind of thing won’t do, Allchin.  You’ll be in serious trouble one of these days.”

“That’s what my wife says, sir.  I know well enough as it’s hard on her, just after we’ve lost the baby—­as perhaps Mrs. Hopper’ll have told you, sir.”

“I was very sorry to hear it, Allchin.”

“Thank you, sir.  You’ve always something kind to say.  And I’m that vexed, because I was getting on well with paying my debts.  But Mr. Boxon, sir, he’s many a time made me that mad that I’ve gone out into the back yard and kicked the wall till my toes were sore, just to ease my feelings, like.  To tell the truth, sir, I don’t think he’s ever rightly sober, and I’ve heard others say the same.  And his business is fallin’ off, something shockin’.  Customers don’t like to be insulted; that’s only natural.  He’s always going down to Kempton Park, or Epsom, or some such place.  They do say as he lost ’undreds of pounds at Kempton Park last week.  It’s my opinion the shop can’t go on much longer.  Well, sir, I thought I just ought to come and tell you the truth of things, and I won’t disturb you no longer.  I shall do my best to find another place.”

Warburton’s impulse was to offer temporary work in Little Ailie Street, but he remembered that the business was not in a position to increase expenses, and that the refinery might any day be closed.

“All right,” he answered cheerily, “let me know how you get on.”

When Allchin’s heavy footsteps had echoed away down the stairs, Mrs. Hopper answered her master’s call.

“I suppose they have a little money to go on with?” Warburton inquired.  “I mean, enough for a week or so.”

“Yes, I think they have that, sir.  But I see how it’ll be.  My poor sister’ll end in the work’us.  Allchin’ll never keep a place.  Not that I can blame him, sir, for givin’ it to that Boxon, ’cause every one says he’s a brute.”

“Well, just let me know if they begin to be in want.  But of course Allchin can always get work as a porter.  He must learn to keep his fists down, if he doesn’t want to be perpetually out of employment.”

“That’s what I tell him, sir.  And my poor sister, sir, she’s never stopped talkin’ to him, day or night you may say, ever since it happened—­”

“Merciful Heavens!” groaned Warburton to himself.

CHAPTER 7

At half-past nine he reached Little Ailie Street.

“Mr. Sherwood not here yet, I suppose?” asked Will.

“Oh yes, he is, sir,” replied the manager; “been here for half an hour.”

Warburton went on to the senior partner’s room.  There sat Godfrey Sherwood bent over a book which, to judge from the smile upon his face, could have nothing to do with the sugar-refining question.