"Thank you, missis," said the man, "I'll pay you the first money I earn, though God knows where I'm to get work. And thank _you_, little 'un; you don't live on the fat of the land, from the looks of you. I've got a girl about your size and weight at home." He repeated the word with savage emphasis. "Home! There'll be none to-morrow. Rent owing, money owing. Out into the streets we go. That's the law." "It's got to be obeyed, Mr. Mildew," said the woman. "It's hard lines, I own, but it's got to be obeyed. What does Mr. Lynn say? Won't he give you time?" "Not an hour, not a minute. He's sucked me dry, and sucked the last drop out of me. Him give time!--with the law on his side! I'd like to grind my heel into his face!" "You're not the only one," said the woman. "That's no comfort. Look here, missis, just cast your eye over this"--he pulled out a tattered penny account book--"it's all set down in plain figures. Twelve months ago--here's the date--he lent me four pounds, and took a bill of sale on my bits of sticks. I didn't get the four pounds--it was eighteen shillings short, for expenses and inquiries and interest in advance. Three pound two, that's as much as I got, and I had to pay half-a-crown a week for fifty-two weeks. If I was a week behindhand there was a fine of sixpence, which kept on being charged and put down against me till that week was paid up. It was all a muddle, and I don't pretend to understand it, but a mate of mine that's quick at reckoning has figured it out, and he says it comes to more than six hundred per cent, interest. All I know is that I've paid five pound ten for that three pound two I got from him, and now he makes out I owe him twice as much again. And the law gives him right. What I say is, damn the law, and them that made it, and them that fatten on it!" It was pitiable to witness the passion and the helplessness of the man. Gracie, listening to this tale of wrong-doing, and never losing sight of Ezra Lynn's door, saw it opened, and saw a man come from the house, a thin, slinking, sly-faced man in rusty black, whom she supposed to be Ezra Lynn; but she was presently undeceived. "There's his jackal," said the man in the baker's shop, "that collects for him, and grinds the poor chaps down that's drawn into his mill. Grinds 'em down, blood, bones, heart, and soul. Mr. Lynn's too grand now to do the small dirty work himself. It was different once I've been told, missis." "Yes," said the woman, "I remember when Mr. Lynn first set up as a money-lender in the neighbourhood; they say he started with a hundred pounds, but a man like that, who wouldn't step aside to save a human creature's life, soon grows rich." "He's worse than the lowest pickpocket," said the man "I've heard he could set up his carriage, if he liked. He's got big fish to look after now; he leaves his jackal to look after the sprats." "I warned you, you know," said the woman, "when you told me you were getting a loan from him."