His usefulness in the shop led Mr. Broad to engage the services of a smaller boy for the evening round, while Jim was promoted to the dignity of serving behind the counter. This made him later at night, but he generally found an opportunity of doing his lessons before going home. His wages were raised to six shillings a week, and there was some talk of his going into the business altogether when he left school. "Keep steady, my boy," said his employer, "learn all you can here, and there is no reason why you should not get on well." Unfortunately Jim had drifted away from his schoolmates, seeing little even of Dick. To a certain extent this was inevitable, but Dick soon discovered that his old chum was beginning to lose pleasure in his company. The truth was that Jim had picked up some new friends, with whom he knew quite well that Dick would have nothing to do. He himself was a little ashamed of them, but he eased his conscience by saying he must have some one to talk to. One night on leaving the shop he found the Angel outside. "Hullo, Dick," he said; "anything wrong?" "Oh no. I had an hour to spare, so I thought I’d come and meet you—that’s all. We haven’t seen much of each other lately." "That isn’t my fault." "No; I’m not blaming you. I was awfully disappointed last night, though." Jim’s face became red. "How is that?" he asked. "Oh, I came round last night just in time to see you going off with Curly Peters and his chum." "Why shouldn’t I? What’s the matter with Curly?" "Oh, nothing!" replied Dick airily—"only he’s a foul-mouthed little blackguard. Perhaps you’ll take him with you on Sunday to see Susie?" That shot struck home, and Jim winced, but he answered sneeringly,— "You’ll be getting another nickname soon: they’ll be calling you the Saint." "They might do worse," replied Dick cheerfully. "Anyhow, I’d make a cleaner saint than Curly." "That’s right!" exclaimed Jim, trying to work himself into a passion; "you’re like all the rest. Just because the chap’s poor and has no friends you’re down on him. I’ve been through it myself." The Angel laughed genially. "There’s something in that," he agreed. "You see, we Baxter’s Court millionaires"—Dick lived in a tiny house in Baxter’s Court—"don’t care much to mix up with poor people. But Curly has a few extra points in his favour. He’s dirty, he loafs about the town cadging for coppers instead of going to work, he thinks it big to swear, and I don’t know that he’s over honest." "Well, he hasn’t asked for your company," said Jim sullenly. "No," replied the Angel with a smile; "perhaps that’s why I’m prejudiced against him. And now let’s talk about something else. How’s Susie?" "Better," said Jim, his face brightening. "The doctor says he is more than satisfied."