possessed, might lead him into society where his manliness and proper pride might be swallowed up in the effulgency of his surroundings. So mused George Harding, bending over the dingy old grate at the _Statesman_ office, and gazing vacantly at the shavings with which it was filled, while waiting for Mr. Marks, the head printer, to bring him the "statement," showing the amount required to fill the paper. Meanwhile Churchill, cigar in mouth, was striding through the deserted streets, rejoicing in the thought of his coming holiday, and inwardly chuckling over his friend's warnings. At last he stopped at a door in a dull respectable street leading out of Brunswick Square, let himself in with a latch-key, drank a tumbler of soda-water, and glanced at the addresses of some letters in his little dining-room, exchanged his boots for slippers at the bottom of the staircase, and crept slowly up the stairs. As he arrived at the second floor, he paused for a minute, and a voice said, "God bless you, Frank!" "God bless you, mother!" he replied; "good night, dear;" and passed into his room. Then he sat himself on the side of his bed, and began leisurely to undress himself, smiling meanwhile. "Bring back a wife, and beware of swells, eh? That is the essence of Harding's advice. No, no my darling old mother; you and I get on too well together to change our lives. An amusing time a wife would have with me,--out half the night at the office, and she shivering in the dining-room waiting my return. Wife, by Jove! Yes; and thick fat chops, and sixteen-shilling trousers, and the knifeboard of the omnibus instead of the cob to ride on! No; I think not. And as for swells--that old republican, Harding, thinks every man with a handle to his name is an enemy to Magna Charta. I should like to show him my old godfather walking into an idiotic peer of the realm!" And, very much tickled at the idea, Churchill put out his candle and turned in. CHAPTER II. DOWN AT BISSETT.