“I have never yet been beaten,” Crad answered, “but of course there are many who _can_ beat me.” “And run, no doubt? And your sight is accurate, and your nerves very good?” “My nerves are not what they were, sir; but I can run fast and see well.” “Why do you shiver so? That will never do. And the muscles of his calf are too prominent. We lost No. 6 through that.” “It is only a little cold I have caught. It will go off in a moment with regular work.” “You have no relation, I suppose, in any way connected with the law? No friends, I mean, of litigious tendencies?” “Oh no. I have no friends whatever; none, I mean, in London, only one family, far in the country, to care at all about me.” “No father or mother to make a fuss, eh? No wife to prevent your attending to business?” “No, sir, nothing of the sort. I am quite alone in the world; and my life is of no importance.” “Wonderful luck,” muttered Mr. Killquick; “exactly the very thing for us! And I have been so put out about that place, it has got such a reputation. Poor Morshead cannot get through the work any longer by himself. And the coroner made such nasty remarks. If we kill another man there before Easter, the _Times_ will be sure to get hold of it. Young man,” he continued in a louder tone, “you are in luck this time, I believe. It is a very snug situation; only you must look sharp after your legs, and be sure you never touch spirits. Not given to blue ruin, I hope?” “Oh no. I never touch it.” “Thatʼs right. I was afraid you did, you look so down in the mouth. You can give us a reference, I suppose?” “Yes, to my landlady, Mrs. Ducksacre, a most respectable person, in trade in Mortimer–street.” “Good,” replied Mr. Killquick; “you mustnʼt be alarmed, by the way, by any foolish rumours you may hear as to dangers purely imaginary. Your predecessor lost his life through the very grossest carelessness. You are as safe there as in your bed, unless your nerves happen to fail you. And, when that is the case, I should like to know,” asked the traffic–manager indignantly, “which of us is not in danger, even in coming down–stairs?” “What will my duties be, then?” asked Cradock, with some surprise. “Why, you are not afraid, are you?” Mr. Killquick looked at him contemptuously. “No, I should rather hope not,” replied Cradock, meeting him eye to eye, so that the wholesale smasher quailed at him; “there is no duty, even in a powder–mill, which I would shrink from now.” “Ah, terrible things, those powder–mills! A perfect disgrace to this age and country, their wanton waste of human life. How the Legislature lets them go on so, is more than I can conceive. Why, they think no more of murdering and maiming a dozen people——” “Please, sir,” cried one of the clerks, coming down from the telegraph office, “no end of a collision on the Slayham and Bury Branch. Three passengers killed, and twenty–five wounded, some of them exceedingly fatally.”