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all well, Hetty looking prettier than ever, full of her birthday; she’s thirteen next week.” He broke off, turned towards the door. “By the way, the strike’s broken. The men start in to-morrow.”
    Her small mouth made the letter O; she placed her hand protectively against her flannelette swathed heart.
    “Oh, Richard, I’m so glad. Why didn’t you tell me at once? That’s splendid, such a relief.”
    He paused, the door half open. He said:
    “You may expect me to-night.” Then he went out.
    “Yes, Richard.”
    Harriet lay on her back, the pleased surprise still lingering upon her face. Then she took a slip of paper and a silver pencil with a small cairngorm set at the end. She wrote neatly: “Remember tell Dr. Lewis heart gave a great thump when Richard delivered good news.” She paused, meditatively, then underlined the word great. Finally she took up her work and began placidly to crochet.

FIVE
    It was quite dark as Armstrong and Hudspeth came through the big white gates of the Law and entered the avenue of tall beech trees—known locally as Sluice Dene—which led towards Hedley Road and the town. They walked some distance apart, and in silence, for neither cared much for the other; but at last Hudspeth, smarting under the snub he had received, ground out bitterly:
    “He makes a man feel like dirt on times. He’s a cold devil right enough. I cannot make him out. I cannot make him out no how.”
    Armstrong smiled to himself in the darkness. He despised Hudspeth secretly as a man of no education, a man who had worked his way up, succeeding more through doggedness than actual merit; he was often irritated, humiliated even, by the other’s bluntness and physical assertiveness; it was pleasant to see him humiliated in his turn.
    “How d’you mean?” He pretended not to understand.
    “What I damwell say,” said Hudspeth disagreeably.
    Armstrong said:
    “He knows what he’s about.”
    “Ay, he knows his job. And God help us if we didn’t know ours. He’d not spare us. He’s that perfect himself he’d have no mercy whatever. Did you hear him, too?” He paused,mimicking Barras bitterly, “All the unnecessary hardship In the town. Good Christ, that was funny.”
    “No, no,” Armstrong said quickly. “He meant that.”
    “Meant it like hell! He’s the meanest devil in Sleescale and that’s saying something. He’s just flaming inside over losing his contract. And I’ll tell you another thing since I’m about it. I’m damned glad we’re shot of Scupper Flats. Though I’ve kept my trap shut I’ve been feeling pretty near Fenwick’s way about that bloody water.”
    Armstrong darted a sharp, disapproving glance at Hudspeth:
    “That’s no way to talk, man.”
    There was a short silence, then, sulkily, Hudspeth declared:
    “It’s a sheugh of a place, anyhow.”
    But Armstrong said nothing. They tramped on in silence, down Hedley Road, and into Cowpen Street past the Terraces. As they drew near the corner a blare of light and a hubbub of voices from the Salutation made both men turn their heads. Armstrong remarked, with an obvious desire to change the subject:
    “They’ve a full house to-night.”
    “Ay, and a tight one,” Hudspeth answered, still sulking. “Amour has started tick again. The first time he’s had the slate out for a fortnight.”
    Not speaking any more they went on to post the notices.

SIX
    Back in the Salutation the row increased. The pub was full jammed to suffocation, swirling with smoke, words, bright lights and the fumes of beer. Bert Amour stood behind the bar in his shirt-sleeves with the big chalked slate—the tally of men and drinks—slung on the wall beside him. Bert was a knowing one; for the last two weeks in the face of curses and entreaties he had refused all credit; but now, with pay-Saturday a near-by certainty, he had re-established himself at a stroke. The bar was open; and payment deferred.
    “Fill them up, Bert, lad.” Charley Gowlan thumped