Clare was working away, growing pleasantly hot with the quick, sharp motion, while two of his fellow clerks were strolling up on the other side of the corner, who had been having more with their lunch than was good for them. Swinging round, they came upon a well dressed youth brushing a ragged boy’s boots. It was an odd sight, and one of them, whose name was Marway, thought to get some fun out of the phenomenon. “Here!” he cried, “I want my boots brushed.” Clare rose to his feet, saying, “Brush the gentleman’s boots. I will finish yours after, and then you shall finish mine.” “Hullo, Nursie! it’s you turned boot-black, is it?--Nice thing for the office, Jack!” remarked Marway, who was the finest gentleman, and the lowest blackguard among the clerks. He put his foot on the block. The boy began his task, but did no better with his boots than he had done with Clare’s. “Soul of an ass!” cried Marway, “are you going to keep my foot there till it freezes to the block? Why don’t you do as Nursie tells you? _He_ knows how to brush a boot! _You_ ain’t worth your salt! You ain’t fit to black a donkey’s hoofs!” “Give me the brushes, my boy,” said Clare. The boy rose abashed, and obeyed. After a few of Clare’s light rapid strokes, the boots looked very different. “Bravo, Nursie!” cried Marway. “There ain’t a flunkey of you all could do it better!” Clare said nothing, finished the job, and stood up. Marway, turning on the other heel as he set his foot down, said, “Thank you, Nursie!” and was walking off. “Please, Mr. Marway, give the boy his penny,” said Clare. But Marway wanted to _take a rise out of_ Clare. “The fool did nothing for me!” he answered. “He made my boot worse than it was.” “It was I did nothing for you, Mr. Marway,” rejoined Clare. “What I did, I did for the boy.” “Then let the boy pay you!” said Marway. The shoe-black went into a sudden rage, caught up one of his brushes, and flung it at Marway as he turned. It struck him on the side of the head. Marway swore, stalked up to Clare and knocked him down, then strode away with a grin. The shoe-black sent his second brush whizzing past his ear, but he took no notice. Clare got up, little the worse, only bruised. “See what comes of doing things in a passion!” he said, as the boy came back with the brushes he had hastened to secure. “Here’s your penny! Put up your foot.” The boy did as he was told, but kept foaming out rage at the bloke that had refused him his penny, and knocked down his friend. It did not occur to him that he was himself the cause of the outrage, and that his friend had suffered for him. Clare’s head ached a good deal, but he polished the boy’s boots. Then he made him try again on his boots, when, warmed by his rage, he did a little better. Clare gave him another penny, and went to the bank. Marway was not there, nor did he show himself for a day or two. Clare said nothing about what had taken place, neither did the others.