Too thankful for the offer, Charles followed him into the Rainbow. And over the viands they grew confidential. Hartley was in a large printing and publishing establishment close by: his brother Fred was at a solicitor's, almost out of his articles. "Fred's ill," observed Peter. "He thinks it must be the fogs of this precious London that affect him: and I think so too. Any way, he coughs frightfully, and has had to give up for a day or two. I went to his office this morning to say he was in bed with a plaster on his chest; and a fine way they were in at hearing it: wanting him to go, whether or not. One of their copying-clerks has left; and they can't hear of another all in a hurry." "I wonder whether I should suit them?" spoke Charles on the spur of the moment, a flush rising to his face and a light to his eyes. "_You!_" cried Peter Hartley. And then Charles, encouraged perhaps by the good cheer, told a little of his history to Hartley, and why he must find a situation of some sort that would bring in its returns. Hartley, an open-hearted, country-bred lad, became eager to help him, and offered to introduce him to the solicitor's firm there and then. "It is near the Temple: almost close by," said he: "Prestleigh and Preen. A good firm: one of the best in London. Let us go at once." Charles accompanied him to the place. Had he been aware that this same legal firm counted Mr. George Atkinson amongst its clients, he might have declined to try to enter it. It had once been Callard and Prestleigh. But old Mr. Callard had died very soon after Frank held the interview with him that has been recorded: and Charles, under the new designation of Prestleigh and Preen, did not recognize the old firm. Peter Hartley introduced Charles to the managing-clerk, Mr. Stroud. Mr. Stroud, a tall man, wearing silver-rimmed spectacles, with iron-grey hair and a crabbed manner, put some questions to Charles, and then told him to sit down and wait. Mr. Prestleigh was in his private room; but it would not do to trouble him with these matters: Mr. Preen was out. Peter Hartley, in his good-nature, said all he could in favour of Charles, particularly "that he would be sure to do," and then went away. Charles sat down, and passed an hour gazing at the fire and listening to the pens scratching away at the desks. People were constantly passing in and out: the green-baize door seemed to be ever on the swing. Some brought messages; some were marshalled into Mr. Prestleigh's room. By-and-by, a youngish man--he might be thirty-five, perhaps--came in, in a warm white overcoat; and, from the attention and seriousness suddenly shown by the clerks generally, Charles rightly guessed him to be Mr. Preen. He passed through the room without speaking, and was followed by the head-clerk.