Here is Young Wriford beginning to chafe at Gamber's. Here he is beginning to find himself--wanting to do better work than the heavy hand of Mr. Occshott will admit to the popular pages of Gamber periodicals; and beginning to lose himself--feeling the effect of many different strains; growing what Brida calls "nervy"; slowly changing from ardent Young Wriford to "nervy" Mr. Wriford. The different strains all clash. There is no rest between them nor relief in any one of them. They all involve "scenes"--scenes with Brida, who has left the dramatic school and is on the London stage, who thinks that if Young Wriford really cared tuppence about her he would give up an occasional Sunday to her--but no, he spends them all at Surbiton and when he does come near her is "nervy" and seems to expect her to be sentimental and sorry for him; scenes with the Filmers and even with Alice because now when he comes down to them he doesn't, as they tell him, "seem to think of their dull lives" but wants to shut himself up and work at the novel or whatever it is that he is writing; scenes with Mr. Occshott when he brings Mr. Occshott the "better work" that he tries to do during the week-ends and at night and is told that he is wasting his time doing that sort of thing. Is he wasting his time? Yes, he is wasting it at Gamber's, he tells himself. He can do better work. He wants to do better work. No scope for it at Gamber's, and one day he has it out with Mr. Occshott. Mr. Occshott hands back to him, kindly but rather vexedly, a series of short stories which is of the "better work" he feels he can do. Young Wriford sends the stories to a rival magazine of considerably higher standard than Gamber's, purposely putting upon them what seems to him an outrageous price. They are accepted. That settles it. Young Wriford goes to Mr. Occshott. "I'm sorry, sir--awfully sorry. I've been very happy here. You've been awfully good to me. But I want to do bet--other work. I'm going to resign." Mr. Occshott is extraordinarily kind. Young Wriford finds himself quite affected by all that Mr. Occshott says. Mr. Occshott is not going to let Gamber's lose Young Wriford at any price. "Is it money?" he asks at last. "Yes, it's money--partly," Young Wriford tells him. "But I don't want you to think I'm trying to bounce a rise out of you." "My dear chap, of course I don't think so," says Mr. Occshott. "You're getting five pounds a week. What's your idea?" "I think I ought to be making four hundred a year," says Wriford. "So do I," says Mr. Occshott and laughs. "All right. You are. Is that all right?"