“What would you like to set you up in life, supposing you had the chance of choosing?” Arnold persisted. She thought a little. Then she said longingly: “There’s a nice shirt-and-collar business goin’ cheap in the Lane--Leather Lane. The laidy’s got a young family and can’t see to the laundry. Fifty pound ’ud buy it. An’ I’m used to clear starchin’.” Arnold was delighted at being let off so lightly. He said, trying hard to smooth the complacent grin from his face, and lying glibly, as we all can in emergency: “I’ve always had a great regard for you, Mrs. Neaves. You’ve done my work well, and you’ve been very good to Sol. I’m going to be married shortly, as I told you----” “Yes, sir. And how’s the young lady, sir? if I make so bold.” “The young lady is very well, thank you,” he returned with hurried stiffness. “I should like to see you settled in a comfortable little business of your own before I leave the Inn. And if fifty pounds will buy the shirt-and-collar business, I shall be very pleased to make you a present of it.” When she had a little recovered from her astonishment, she gasped out: “Thank you, sir, thank you kindly, I’m sure. I’ll do the same for you some day; one good turn deserves another, don’t it? An’ I’ll be proud to do your collars and cuffs for sixpence a dozen; the usual price bein’ a shillin’.” That night Arnold went down to Clapham in the best of spirits. As he put it to himself triumphantly, he had saved a couple of hundred pounds and more, for he had quite reckoned on ten shillings a week at least, and these drunken old women live forever. Clarissa was on the platform. She ran up to him, through the hustle of weary-looking City men with tall hats and evening newspapers. “Sol’s gone!” she burst out hysterically. “I took him for a run on the Common. I let him off the lead when we got to the water--you always told me to. And I--I missed him. They run so fast, those deerhounds, don’t they? There were a couple of roughs a little way back. I heard them say what a beauty he was.” You may imagine what a blow this was to Arnold; Sol was a great deal more to him than Clarissa was. Clarissa had never been a woman; she was a barmaid at first and a pretty face afterward. But Sol had been his companion for ten years. Sol had saved his life. All the salt was off his palate; his daily life was dull, without savor. He left off going to Clapham; Clarissa must have had a dull time. Whenever she hinted at marriage, he put her off peevishly. “She never cared for Sol,” he said sadly. “She wanted to chain him up. Women haven’t got brains enough to appreciate a good dog.” He was very miserable. He hadn’t even got Mrs. Neaves to bully and to study. She was settled in the Lane and deep in the shirt-and-collar business. His new laundress helped herself to the whisky and took away his loaves of bread and his rolls of fresh butter.