"Oh, I beg your pardon; I ought to have thought of that. I have two half-sovereigns in my pocket, and no more, I am sorry to say. Will one of them do for to-night? You shall have more to-morrow." "Oh, thank you; it's of no consequence. Well, I don't know--I think I _will_ take the ten shillings, for I want to go out this evening. Yes. Thank you. Never mind to-morrow, _except_ it be convenient." Tom settled the bill, and put the change of the other half-sovereign in his pocket. Molken left him at the door of the tavern, and he went back to the counting-house. "Who was that with you at the Golden Fleece, Tom?" asked Mr. Stopper, as he entered; for he took advantage of his position to be as rude as he found convenient. Taken by surprise, Tom answered at once: "Mr. Molken." "And who is he?" asked Stopper, again. "My German master," answered Tom. The next moment he could have knocked his head against the wall with indignation at himself. For, always behindhand when left to himself, he was ready enough when played upon by another to respond and repent. "He's got a hangdog phiz of his own," said Mr. Stopper, as he plunged again into the business before him, writing away as deliberately as if it had been on parchment instead of foolscap; for Stopper was never in a hurry, and never behind. Tom's face flushed red with wrath. "I'll thank you to be civil in your remarks on my friends, Mr. Stopper." Mr. Stopper answered with a small puff of windy breath from distended lips. He blew, in short. Tom felt his eyes waver. He grew almost blind with rage. If he had followed his inclination, he would have brought the ruler beside him down, with a terrible crack, on the head, before him. "Why didn't he?" does my reader inquire? Just because of his incapacity for action of any sort. He did not refrain in the pity that disarms some men in the midst of their wrath, nor yet from the sense that vengeance is God's business, and will be carried out in a mode rather different from that in which man would prosecute his. CHAPTER XIX. HOW TOM SPENT THE EVENING. When Tom left the office he walked into Mr. Kitely's shop, for he was afraid lest Mr. Stopper should see him turn up to Guild Court. He had almost forgotten Mr. Kitely's behavior about the book he would not keep for him, and his resentment was gone quite. There was nobody in the shop but Mattie. "Well, chick," said Thomas, kindly, but more condescendingly than suited Miss Matilda's tastes. "Neither chick nor child," she answered promptly; though where she got the phrase is a mystery, as indeed is the case with almost all the sayings of such children. "What are you, then? A fairy?" "If I was, I know what I would do. Oh, wouldn't I just! I should think I would!" "Well, what would you do, little Miss What's-your-name?" "My name is Miss Kitely; but that's neither here nor there. Oh, no! it's not me! Wouldn't I just!" "Well, Miss Kitely, I want to know what you would do if you were a fairy?"