Had any one paid Arthur in gold to keep in that little bit of sarcasm, he could not have done so. Mr. Dove caught up the idea that the words _were_ uttered in sarcasm, and scowled fitfully. “Marston was worth twenty-five shillings a week to us: and gained it. You would not be worth half as much.” “You do not know what I should be worth, sir, unless you tried me. I am a quick and correct copyist; but I should not expect to receive as much as an ordinary clerk, on account of having to attend the cathedral for morning and afternoon service. Wherever I go, I must have that privilege allowed me.” “Then I don’t think you’ll get it with us. But look here, young Channing, it is my brother who undertakes the engaging and management of the clerks--you can speak to him.” “Can I see him this afternoon, sir?” “He’ll be in presently. Of course, we could not admit you into our office unless some one became security. You must be aware of that.” The words seemed like a checkmate to Arthur. He stopped in hesitation. “Is it usual, sir?” “Usual--no! But it is necessary in _your_ case” There was a coarse, pointed stress upon the “your,” natural to the man. Arthur turned away. For a moment he felt that to Dove and Dove’s he could not and would not go; every feeling within him rebelled against it. Presently the rebellion calmed down, and he began to think about the security. It would be of little use, he was sure, to apply to Mr. Alfred Dove--who was a shade coarser than Mr. Dove, if anything--unless prepared to say that security could be given. His father’s he thought he might command: but he was not sure of that, under present circumstances, without first speaking to Hamish. He turned his steps to Guild Street, his unhappy position pressing with unusual weight upon his feelings. “Can I see my brother?” he inquired of the clerks in the office. “He has some gentlemen with him just now, sir. I dare say you can go in.” There was nothing much amiss in the words; but in the tone there was. It was indicative of slight, of contempt. It was the first time Arthur had been there since the suspicion had fallen on him, and they seemed to stare at him as if he had been a hyena; not a respectable hyena either. He entered Hamish’s room. Hamish was talking with two gentlemen, strangers to Arthur, but they were on the point of leaving. Arthur stood away against the wainscoting by the corner table, waiting until they were gone, his attitude, his countenance, his whole appearance indicative of depression and sadness. Hamish closed the door and turned to him. He laid his hand kindly upon his shoulder; his voice was expressive of the kindest sympathy. “So you have found your way here once more, Arthur! I thought you were never coming again. What can I do for you, lad?” “I have been to Dove and Dove’s. They are in want of a clerk. I think perhaps they would take me; but, Hamish, they want security.”