Having nothing to do for half an hour save kick their heels in that dingy, dirty, fusty, comfortless hall which the Great Eastern Railway Company generously offers for the use of the travellers on its line who repair to London Street, Mr. Bailey improved the occasion by delivering a series of orations on the folly of that old sinner Asherill, who detained them talking humbug till they lost the train, and having eased his feelings so far, he next proceeded to relieve them further by anathematizing Mortomley, who chose Saturday of all days in the week, and that Saturday of all Saturdays in the year, to take up his residence in Queer Street. "I won't stand it," finished Mr. Bailey, while his eyes wandered over that cheerful expanse of country which greets the traveller who journeys by train from London to Stratford, as he nears the latter station. "I'll give them notice on Monday. They could not get on without me. I'd like to know where they could possibly find a man able to work as I can who would put up with such treatment. On Monday I will give them a piece of my mind they won't relish as much as they will their cut of roast beef to-morrow." Which was all very well, but as Mr. Bailey had been in the habit of making the same statement about once a fortnight upon an average, since liquidation came into fashion, his companion attached less importance to it than might otherwise have been the case. "What a day it has turned out!" was all the comment he made. "Yes, and they are at home safe and snug before this, or on their way to it. Well, it is of no use talking." "I wonder if we shall have far to walk," said the junior, whose name was Merle. "Miles no doubt," answered Mr. Bailey, "and get drenched to the skin. But what do they care! We are not flesh and blood to them. We are only pounds shillings and pence." Which was indeed a very true remark, although it emanated from Mr. Bailey. Had he been aware how exactly his words defined his employers' feelings, he would not perhaps have been so ready to give utterance to them. As matters stood, he grumbled on until they were turned out in the drenching rain to get from Leytonstone Station to Whip's Cross as best they could. Green Grove Lane was still leafy, and flowers bloomed gaily in the railway gardens, and Leytonstone church stood in its graveyard a picturesque object in the landscape, and there was a great peace about that quiet country station with its level crossing and air of utter repose which might have been pleasant to some people. But it did not prove agreeable to Mr. Bailey. A soaking rain. An indefinite goal. An unknown amount of work to be got through! Very comprehensively and concisely Mr. Bailey read a short commination service over Mr. Mortomley and his affairs, whilst he and Merle stood on the down platform waiting the departure of the train ere crossing the line. He had got his directions from the station master, and they did not agree with those issued at head-quarters.