"By writing to know why letters have not been replied to, and getting answers to say that they _have_ been replied to," said the invalid. "It's very perplexing, Enoch, and I've lost a deal of money by it. I wouldn't mind so much if I was well, but--" "There, now, you're getting excited again, Fred; you _must not_ speak about business matters. Haven't I promised to take it in hand? and I'll investigate this matter to the bottom. I'll write to the Secretary of the General Post-Office. I'll go down to St. Martin's-le-Grand and see him myself, and if he don't clear it up I'll write letters to the _Times_ until I bu'st up the British Post-Office altogether; so make your mind easy, Fred, else I'll forsake you and go right away back to Africa." There was no resisting this. The poor invalid submitted with a faint smile, and his brother returned to the shop. "It's unsatisfactory, to say the least of it," murmured Mr Blurt as he relieved guard and sat down again on the high stool. "To solicit trade and to be unable to meet the demand when it comes is a very false position. Yet I begin to wish that somebody would come in for something--just for a change." It seemed as if somebody had heard his wish expressed, for at that moment a man entered the shop. He was a tall, powerful man. Mr Blurt had just begun to wonder what particular branch of the business he was going to be puzzled with, when he recognised the man as his friend George Aspel. Leaping from his stool and seizing Aspel by the hand, Mr Blurt gave him a greeting so hearty that two street boys who chanced to pass and saw the beginning of it exclaimed, "Go it, old 'un!" and waited for more. But Aspel shut the door in their faces, which induced them to deliver uncomplimentary remarks through the keyhole, and make unutterable eyes at the owl in the window ere they went the even tenor of their way. Kind and hearty though the greeting was, it did not seem to put the youth quite at his ease, and there was a something in his air and manner which struck Mr Blurt immediately. "Why, you've hurt your face, Mr Aspel," he exclaimed, turning his friend to the light. "And--and--you've had your coat torn and mended as if--" "Yes, Mr Blurt," said Aspel, suddenly recovering something of his wonted bold and hearty manner; "I have been in bad company, you see, and had to fight my way out of it. London is a more difficult and dangerous place to get on in than I had imagined at first." "I suppose it is, though I can't speak from much experience," said Mr Blurt. "But come, sit down. Here's a high stool for you. I'll sit on the counter. Now, let's hear about your adventures or misadventures. How did you come to grief?"