A married man with several children, he had afterwards been appointed show-room manager, and it was as his assistant, as I have already said, that I had entered Mr. Lorton’s employment. From the outset, however, although I had endeavoured to conceal this, I had both disliked and distrusted him, and in spite of what I presumed to be a species of nautical humour, I had found his attitude towards me peculiarly offensive. I had never been accustomed, for example, as I had been obliged to point out to him, to be addressed as ‘young-feller-me-lad,’ or ‘the bosun’s mate,’ and I had even been compelled to report him to Mr. Lorton in order to secure more respectful treatment. I had been deeply concerned, too, to observe the levity with which, in the absence of customers, he would handle and describe the sacred publications of which it was his privilege to be the salesman. ‘Bilge-water for the Bairns,’ for instance, was a frequent expression of his for our well-known series of _Talks with the Infants_, and I had even heard him refer to a parcel of _Claudie’s Temptations_ as “another half-hundredweight of the Prigs’ Paradise.” Indeed, on one occasion, ignorant of the presence of the author—the celebrated Non-conformist, the Reverend Eugene Cake—he had tossed me a window-copy of _Without are Dogs_, saying that, if they were ‘wise bow-wows,’ they would stay there; and it was only after a second interview with Mr. Chrysostom Lorton, the tearful intervention of Mrs. Maidstone, and a complete apology to the Reverend Cake, that he was allowed to retain his position. But for the fact, indeed, that his children were still at school and dependent upon his earnings, and that his wife, who seemed inexplicably attached to him, had been an invalid for some years, he would most certainly have been dismissed, and I had always felt that this should have been done. Nor was I alone in this, for when I ventured to congratulate him on the successful sale of _Without are Dogs_, the Reverend Cake had entirely agreed with me in deploring Mr. Maidstone’s retention in the business. Such then was the man by whose side I was now sitting upon the damp pavement, and from whom I only detached myself after a prolonged struggle, just as a member of the police force came in sight. This was a stalwart constable of somewhat coarse appearance to whom I immediately made myself known, and to whose attention I then brought Mr. Maidstone, who was still seated upon the pavement. “Ha, I see,” he said, “a bit sideways. Do you happen to know where the gentleman lives?” “I don’t know the street,” I said, “nor can I accept your assumption that such a degenerate can be called a gentleman. But I understand that his home is in Greenwich.” “Num shixteen,” said Mr. Maidstone. The constable bent over him, and raised him to his feet. “Now, come along,” he said. “Pull yourself together.” Mr. Maidstone swayed for a moment and then saluted us. “Happit meetu,” he said. “Num shixteen.”