"--And I have been told off to go to town and supervise the pair of them," concluded Philip. "Shall I?" "Why not?" "Well--I shall be giving up my other work, you know." "What is your other work? Describe one of your ordinary days in detail." Philip did so. When he had finished, Mr. Mablethorpe said:-- "Well, if that is the sort of life your tastes incline to, why not go the whole hog and get ten years' penal servitude right away? That strikes me as an equally suitable and much more economical method of satisfying your desires. Consider! You would get ten years of continuous employment, of a kind almost identical with your present occupation, and the State--people like me--would maintain you into the bargain. No rates, no taxes, no extortionate tradesmen, no women of any kind! Regular hours, rational diet, and free spiritual consolation! What more could a man ask? True, your hours of work would be shorter than at present, but I dare say that if you were good they would allow you an extra go at the oakum when no one else was using it. That's the plan, Philip! Put the thing on a business footing at once, and get arrested! Don't overdo it, of course. It is no use committing a crime they could hang you for: that would be _trop de zèle_. Supposing you burn down the Houses of Parliament--or, better still, the Imperial Institute--or get to work on some of your personal friends with a chopper, and carve ten years' worth out of them. Start on Dumps here. She would make a capital subject for experiment." Miss Mablethorpe turned to the visitor with an apologetic smile. "He will be all right presently," she said, indicating her parent. "He is always a little strange in his manner after correcting proofs." She was right. Presently Mr. Mablethorpe, who had been ranting about the room, to the detriment of waste-paper baskets and revolving bookcases, sat down and said:-- "And you are reluctant to give up your present berth, Phil?" "Yes," said Philip, "I am. You see," he added a little shyly, "it's my work." "Quite so," agreed Mr. Mablethorpe, suddenly serious. "You believe that work is the key of life. _Labor omnia vincit_--eh?" Philip nodded, but Dumps enquired:-- "What does that mean, please?" Her father translated, and continued:-- "Philip, let me tell you something. You are in danger of becoming a specialist. Life, roughly, is made up of two ingredients--Things and People. At present you are devoting yourself entirely to Things--to Work, in fact. How many years have you lived in Coventry?" "About five." "Very good. And how many people do you know there? I am not referring to your fellow stokers. I mean people outside the place. How many?" Philip pondered, and shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "Half a dozen?" "Perhaps."