“Where my thumb is,” said Erb’s voice. A damp mark guided her attention, and she read it, her lips moving silently as she went through the paragraph, her head giving its uncontrollable shake. “We understand that a Society of Railway Carmen has been formed, and that the first meeting will be held at the Druid’s Arms, Southwark, on Saturday evening, at half-past nine o’clock, a late hour fixed in order to secure the attendance of the men. There are two candidates for the position of secretary—Messrs. Herbert Barnes and James Spanswick. The former is losing his situation for taking part in a labour movement, and his case has excited a great deal of interest.” “I say,” cried Louisa, in an awed voice, “that’s never meant for you, Erb?” “It ain’t meant for anyone else,” called Erb. “Seen anything of my stud?” “Where did you put it last? But, just fancy, in print too. And underneath is something about Royalty.” Louisa clicked her tongue amazedly. “You never said anything about it, either.” “No use talking too much. Why, here’s the collar stud in the shirt all the time. No use talking too much beforehand. Besides, it isn’t what you may call definitely settled yet. Spanswick’s got very strong support, and he hates me as much as he likes beer. I said something rather caustic on one occasion about his grammar.” “I shall snip this out,” said Louisa, as Erb appeared struggling into his coat, “and I shall show it privately to everybody I come across in Eaton Square to-night.” “I don’t know that that’s worth while,” he said doubtfully. “It’ll let ’em see,” said Louisa, with decision, “that they ain’t everybody. When you’ve done trimming your cuffs with the scissors—” No further word of disparagement came from the short girl as she trotted along proudly by the side of her brother to the junction where New Kent Road starts for Walworth and town. Indeed, outside the tram she expressed some surprise at the fact that so many people were not acquainted with her brother; she consoled herself by the assurance that once Erb obtained a start the whole world would join her in an attitude of respect; she also enjoyed, in anticipation, the reflected glory that would be hers in the workshop the following morning. Being as outspoken in praise as in blame, it resulted, as they walked over Westminster Bridge and took an omnibus, that not only Louisa, but Erb himself, had attained a glowing state of content, and when they arrived eventually at the house in Eaton Square (lighted recklessly below and sparsely illuminated above) they felt that the world might possibly contain their equals, but they were certainly not prepared to look on anybody as a superior. “Jackson,” said the buttoned boy who opened the door as they descended the area, “this looks like your lot.” “They call her Jackson,” whispered Louisa to her brother, interrupting his protest. “Parlour-maid here is always called Jackson.”