Haworth could hear his loud pounding on her door and boisterous demands to be let in, together with the shouted information as to his having been taken on by the railroad company and his urgent desire for further celebration of that event. This he kept up interminably, varying it with whining and begging that she open the door. But he eventually became tired of it and went shambling back to his room. Haworth gave him about half an hour. At the expiration of that time he went upstairs and listened at his door. Loud breathing and raucous nasal reverberations were the only sounds that could be heard from within. The key was at his hand on the outside. He grasped it firmly so there should be as little rattling as possible, and slowly turned it in the lock. After listening a moment to make sure the slight click hadn’t disturbed the sleeper within, he turned and walked down the corridor, taking the other key out of his pocket as he went. * * * * * It proved to be the truth that Augustus had got a job at the Exeter Street freight yards. Whether to hustle boxes and barrels about or sit on a high stool and work at bills of lading he never told. But whatever it was, it obliged him to rise every morning at five-thirty and have breakfast at six. After three mornings of this, Alma, the cook, appeared before Haworth and made the solemn declaration that she wouldn’t be staying there to get up and cook a special breakfast “for the likes o’ him.” Haworth, much disturbed, inquired of Hulda what he’d better do, and she told him that the only way to settle it was to turn that Findlay man out of the house and get rid of him “for good an’ all.” But of course if he did that Augustus would take Edith with him. No way to prevent it that he could see. He puzzled quite distractedly over the matter for some time, and then bethought him of an old woman who came in from somewhere once a week to clean. Mrs. Temple was her name, and several times in the past when she’d been working in the basement he had called her into his shop and got her to help him about something that needed an extra pair of hands; and twice since Michael Cripps’s death—there being no one else to do it—she had gone in to Boston to manage the matter of replacing servants for him. It now occurred to him to ask her what had better be done about Mr. Findlay’s new breakfast requirements. Mrs. Temple was entirely equal to the occasion. She herself went to Mr. Findlay and notified him in not the politest terms, that if he wanted his breakfast before eight o’clock in the morning he’d have to get it somewhere else. There was no more trouble; Findlay got his breakfast somewhere else. And beginning about then Haworth came more and more to rely on the old woman for advice and assistance. She was a wise one, too, and had a perfectly clear idea of what she was about, which was particularly fortunate just at this period, for the young inventor was in a daze—a dream—an enchantment.