Mr. Richards failed in the attempt to make a knife balance on a fork, and sighed deeply. “I’ve been here now for—how long?—and there hasn’t been a single, solitary ring of the bell,” went on Wilkinson. “You’ve got to look the facts squarely in the face.” “If the worst comes to the worst,” announced the other grimly, “I shall sell the business and the goodwill and stock and everything, and embark on something entirely fresh—something where I shan’t be dependent on the kindness of old friends.” “You’ll get a big price for the goodwill,” mentioned the visitor, with sarcasm. “And I suppose you’ve taken the premises on a lease?” “Let me fetch you a cigar,” suggested Mr. Richards desperately, “and then you give me the best advice that lays in your power.” “Pick out one that I can smoke.” Wilkinson’s counsel, given after he had submitted the cigar to a sufficient test, was this. Competition, brisk and determined, existed in the trade on the part of large firms who opened shops all over the place. Small establishments could only exist by the possession of something in the shape of what Wilkinson called a magnet—a magnet to draw the people in. “You mean a gramophone?” Wilkinson meant nothing of the kind. What you had to bear in mind was, first, that all your possible customers belonged to what was known as the male persuasion; second, that by an old-established arrangement, which you might argue against but you had to accept, the male was always attracted by the female. Wilkinson added that in his opinion the daughter upstairs was a dashed good-looking girl, and, the cigar being near to its end, suggested that another might be presented to bear him company on the way home. And went. “Harriet, my girl,” said Mr. Richards, “I’ve thought of an idea that I may as well mention at once before I forget it. No doubt you’ve heard the remark about Satan and idle hands. And as there’s no good reason why I should work my fingers to the bone, I shall want you to come into the shop of an afternoon and evening, and serve customers, and smile at ’em, and make yourself generally useful.” “Afraid you’re too late, father,” she said. “If you had let Arthur stay to supper, we were not going to tell you anything about it. As it is, you’ve got to be told that we were married this morning at the registrar’s, and that I’m going to leave you now.” * * * * * The shop is doing very well, and when you happen to pass that way, you might step in and buy something. You will find Harriet at the counter serving goods of excellent quality at current prices; in the evening her husband is also there. Glancing through the windowed door of the shop parlour, you may catch sight of ex-Inspector Richards, looking after the baby. VII—THE USURPER