"Your bag, sir," said Mitchell, the younger of the two porters that the station boasted. "Carry it up for you, sir?" the man inquired respectfully. The Le Mesuriers were held in great esteem by Mitchell and his colleagues. "Thanks, Bob, no," the boy returned, "it is not heavy"; and taking the lean, attenuated, and excessively shabby portmanteau containing Teddie’s night apparel and toilet requisites from the man’s hand, the brother and sister walked from the station and out upon the sunlit road. "You must not take it too much to heart, old fellow," Hazel said presently. "How do you feel?" "Rather cut up and a bit blue, you know," Teddie responded with hesitancy. "You see, it was rather sudden, and—and came upon a fellow with rather a shock." "Yes," Hazel agreed sympathetically; "it was sudden." "So, of course, I feel it rather," Teddie continued pathetically, though seemingly soothed. "And, anyway, I gave the brute a fine black eye," he broke out gleefully, in startling exultation. "Not—not Carrots?" gasped Hazel. "The worst of it is," Teddie continued, gloom descending once more, "the worst of it is that I am not at all sure that Hugh may not turn up one day this week—in this same way, you know. He was given a month’s notice more than three weeks ago, but has said nothing about it, hoping to get something else all this time." "Does—does he wish to keep what he has done private?" Hazel asked with delicate hesitancy, "or may you tell me?" "He has not _done_ anything," her brother replied; "that is just it: he won’t work, you know. I don’t blame the old boy, I have always known it to be simply impossible for Hugh to work; if he gets a pen or pencil in his fingers, he is bound to _draw_. Have you not noticed it in him? His blotting-paper at the office is a sight," Teddie continued, "and, which may have hastened matters, his boss found a likeness of himself—not a flattering one—among Hugh’s papers." "How dreadful!" said Hazel in consternation. "Pretty bad, isn’t it?" Teddie agreed. "And oh, Teddie," the girl went on, "my pocket-money gave out to-day. You know how I like to give mother some little delicacy. I don’t know whether you could lend me any. Sixpence would do for to-day." Teddie felt in all his pockets and produced three halfpence. "I am awfully sorry," he said ruefully; "and to think I spent one and fourpence on a steak to-day." "You _must_ have been hungry," his sister exclaimed, amazed. "Oh, not to eat," laughed Teddie. "It was for Carrots’ eye." Hazel looked her astonishment. "You see," her brother explained, "it was after the row. Hamilton had gone out to lunch, and I was going to mine, when I noticed that Carrots, who was sitting at his desk, was holding his face in his hands and groaning." "Yes," said Hazel pitifully, "and then?"