“Tell him he can stay on to supper,” recommended her father. “That might influence him,” admitted Harriet. “Would you like me to give a hand with the shop when you’re so busy as you were to-night?” “How many more times am I to tell you that I can manage the business myself? Besides, I don’t want a set of young men coming in just for the sake of chatting and talking with you. What do you think your poor mother would have said to such an idea?” The young man on arriving the next night found a hearty hand-shake awaiting him, and an American cigarette. He was ordered to sit inside the counter and to have a good look around. Mr. Richards gave something like a lesson in geography, pointing out that Log Cabin was bordered on the east by Navy Cut, on the west by Honey Dew; that twopenny cigars were situated on a peninsula, and wax matches formed a range of mountains. Proceeding to the cash drawers, Arthur was instructed to observe that four separate lakes existed, each with its own duty, and one was not on any account to be confused with the rest. When he exhibited a desire to go in and see Harriet, Mr. Richards upbraided him for want of attention, and mentioned that all knowledge was worth acquiring, in that you never knew when it might prove useful; to retain him until the rush of business came many reminiscent anecdotes were told of railway life, incidents of difficulty faced by Inspector Richards at various periods, and always triumphantly overcome. Coming to more recent occurrences, a complaint was made that Harriet that morning going out to shop in High Street had been absent for no less than three-quarters of an hour. “Don’t go in there!” said a voice at the doorway. “That’s old T. R.’s show. Let’s go on higher up. He’ll only try to boss it over us.” When Harriet sang out an announcement concerning the meal, the proprietor of the tobacconist’s shop remarked brusquely that there was probably enough for two, but not sufficient for three, and in these circumstances he would not trouble Arthur to stay. Mr. Richards was still watching the roadway, and wondering how it was possible for so many folk to pass by an attractive shop-window without stopping to give it the compliment of a glance, when he caught sight of one of his fellow-inspectors on the opposite side. Anxious for congenial company, he gave an invitation with a wave of the hand, and the other, after a moment of thought, crossed over. Harriet made another deferential announcement. “Just in time!” he cried genially. “Come along inside, Wilkinson, and share pot-luck.” “What do you call pot-luck?” inquired Wilkinson, with caution. Mr. Richards recited the brief menu, and the inspector decided to enter. “Brought a friend,” said Richards to his daughter in the back parlour. “Then we shall want a fourth chair, father.” “No, we shan’t. Wilkinson, sit you down and make yourself thoroughly at home. How are you muddling on without me?” “Do you want the truth?”