“For a regular single gentleman as rises in the morning and goes out, and comes in and takes 'is dinner, and goes to bed like the Medes and Persians, I've never seen 'is equal; an' it's five-and-twenty years since 'Olmes died, 'avin' a bad liver through takin' gin for rheumatics; an' Liz-beth Peevey says to me, 'Take lodgers, Jemima; not that they pays for the trouble, but it 'ill keep an 'ouse.'... “Mr. Perkins' business;” it was shabby, but the temptation came as a way of escape from the flow of Mrs. Holmes' autobiography; “now that I couldn't put a name on, for why, 'e never speaks about 'is affairs; just 'Good evening, Mrs.'Olmes; I'll take fish for breakfast to-morrow;' no more than that, or another blanket on 'is bed on the first of November, for it's by days, not cold, 'e goes....” It was evident that I must solve the problem for myself. Mr. Perkins could not be a city man, for in the hottest June he never wore a white waistcoat, nor had he the swelling gait of one who made an occasional _coup_ in mines, and it went without saying that he did not write; a man who went to bed at eleven, and whose hair made no claim to distinction. One's mind fell back on the idea of law--conveyancing seemed probable--but his face lacked sharpness, and the alternative of confidential clerk to a firm of drysalters was contradicted by an air of authority that raised observations on the weather to the level of a state document The truth came upon me--a flash of inspiration--as I saw Mr. Perkins coming home one evening. The black frock-coat and waistcoat, dark grey trousers, spotless linen, high, old-fashioned collar, and stiff stock, were a symbol, and could only mean one profession. “By the way, Mr. Perkins,” for this was all one now required to know, “are you Income Tax or Stamps?” “Neither, although my duty makes me familiar with every department in the Civil Service. I have the honour to be,” and he cleared his throat with dignity, “a first-class clerk in the Schedule Office.” “Our work,” he explained to me, “is very important, and in fact... vital to the administration of affairs. The efficiency of practical government depends on the accuracy of the forms issued, and every one is composed in our office. “No, that is a common mistake,” in reply to my shallow remark; “the departments do not draw up their own forms, and in fact they are not fit for such work. They send us a memorandum of what their officials wish to ask, and we put it into shape. “It requires long experience and, I may say, some... ability to compose a really creditable schedule, one that will bring out every point clearly and exhaustively--in fact, I have ventured to call it a science”--here Mr. Perkins allowed himself to smile--“and it might be defined Schedulology. “Yes, to see a double sheet of foolscap divided up into some twenty-four compartments, each with a question and a blank, space for the answer, is pleasing to the eye, very pleasing indeed.