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sneered.

    "Well, he soon will when the books don't turn up," George said, now thoroughly agitated. "He'll report us. Why, he might even tell the police. There'll be a hell of a stink about this. And what's all this about handwriting competitions? I really think you must be out of your mind."

    Brant looked out of the window. "Can't you see?" he said with that patient voice that people reserve for tiresome, questioning children. "We're going to get the names and addresses of all the brats in this school. That's what you want, isn't it? You made a mess of it, so I've fixed it. I said I would, didn't I?"

    "You'll jolly well pay the ten bob out of your own pocket. I'm not going to throw money away like that," George snapped, flushing angrily.
    The cold eyes flickered. "Don't be wet," Brant said. "No one's going to pay ten bob. Let the brat whistle for it."

    "What?" George exclaimed, starting forward. "You're not even going to give a prize after telling all those lies?"

    "You dumb, or something?" Brant's face showed a faint curiosity. "Your pal Kelly wouldn't pay 'em a nickel, would he? What's the matter with you—slipping?" He stared at George until George had to look away. "Anyway, why should you worry? We won't be here next month. They don't know our names, and if they complain to the Company, we can deny it. It's their word against ours."

    The enormity of such a swindle paralyzed George. He sat down and stared stupidly at Brant.

    "It's cheating," he said at last. "I—I don't know what to say."

    "Aw, dry up!" Brant said, a vicious snarl in his voice. "The whole business is a racket. The Company doesn't care how you get business so long as you don't tell 'em. They don't pay you a salary and they don't care if you starve. All they're interested in is to get a mug to sell their hooks. Robinson cheats us out of ten bob on every order we get. Do you think he cares? He doesn't give a damn so long as he gets his rake off. These teachers are only out for what they can get. It's a racket from start to finish." He leaned forward, two faint red spots on his thin cheeks. "It's us or them. If you don't like it, then get the hell out of it and leave me to handle it. I'm out for what I can get, and I'm going to get it. So, shut up!" 

    George flinched away from the savage anger that faced him, and for a long time the room was silent except for the distant sound of children's voices coming from the classrooms.

4

     "If it rains," George had said to Brant, looking at the mass of black cloud slowly creeping across the sky, "we shan't be able to work tonight. It's no good calling on people if you're dripping wet. They don't ask you in, and just try selling anything standing on a doorstep with rain running down the back of your neck."

    Well, it was raining all right. From his bedroom window George looked down at the deserted street, the pavements black and shiny with rain, and water running in the gutters.

    It was a few minutes past six. The little, dingy room was dark and chilly. George had moved the armchair to the window so that he had at least something to look at. It was extraordinary how lonely this room could be. No one seemed to be moving in the house. George supposed that Ella and Mrs Rhodes were in the basement preparing supper. The other boarders seldom came in before seven o'clock: that was the time when George went out. He had the house, as far as he knew, to himself.

    He decided that the results of the afternoon's work had been satisfactory. On the mantelpiece was a packet of names and addresses neatly mounted on card and sorted into "walking order". All good calls.

    George was rather pleased that it was raining. It would be nice to have an evening off. He had done well the previous evening, and he was three pounds in hand. If he did no further work that week, he would still be all right. At half past six, he decided, he would go over to the King's Arms and spend the evening in his favourite corner. He liked the