coming more intimately part of himself and his schemes, a little corner where he would collect his books and his trifles, and sit at a table and enter his takings in his ledger.
He got up, and washed with a sense of exhilaration. No more—"Saul,—luggage number So and So," no one to mess him about, no more bovine interference. He was lord of his own job.
"News for the boy," he thought, as he sluiced water over his head. "I ought to be able to make five pounds a week,—two hundred and fifty a year. The odd fifty will do for me. Why,—there's his education. He will be thirteen next November. Say—twelve years, and at twenty-five he ought to be armed and ready."
While he was shaving he heard voices below. Mr. Roland was up early. He had come to hasten the departure of the adventurous lover.
"Here's a month's money, Buck. Is your luggage ready? I have told Ponds to drive you to the station."
"You seem in a hell of a hurry, sir, to get rid of me."
"Buck,—if I had made such a fool of myself before a lot of women"
Sorrell saw the ex-sergeant-major off with his leather trunk and his suit-case, his blue overcoat over his arm, a sulky animal, trying to look aggrieved. "Damned lot of humbugs!" The car whirled him out and away under the glittering symbol of the Pelican, and Sorrell, going to his work, felt the blessedness of the day's labour.
"My job. I'm responsible."
Mr. Roland, soiling into the lounge, found him with his coat off, whistling softly, and polishing everything that it was possible to polish.
"You sound very cheerful, Stephen."
"I am, sir."
They exchanged a look of liking and respect.
"I am going over to Bath to see the fellow I have in mind. His name is Hulks. A good lad—I think. He will take all his orders from you. The understanding is that he will be luggage-porter."
Sorrell gave him a smile of gratitude.
"I can manage some of the luggage, sir. There is one point. I should like your advice"
"Well?"
