It was late, for instead of being nine o'clock, the clock in the office was on the stroke of ten as Harry Vine hurriedly entered, and glanced at the yellowy-white faced dial. "Morning, Mr Crampton. I say that clock's fast, isn't it?" "Eh? fast?" said the old man grimly. "No, Mr Harry Vine; that's a steady old time-keeper, not a modern young man." "Disagreeable old hunks," said Harry to himself, as he hung up his hat. "Bad headache this morning, Mr Crampton, thought I shouldn't be able to come." "Seidlitz powder," said the old man, scratching away with his pen, and without looking up. "Eh?" "Dissolve the blue in a tumbler of warm water." "Bother!" muttered Harry, frowning. "The white in a wineglassful of cold. Pour one into the other--and-- drink--while effervescing." The intervals between some of the words were filled up by scratches of the pen. "Headache, eh? Bad things, sir, bad things." He removed himself from his stool and went to the safe in the inner office, where Van Heldre generally sat, and Harry raised his head from his desk and listened, as he heard the rattling of keys and the clang of a small iron door. "Yes, bad things headaches, Mr Harry," said the old man returning. "Try early hours for 'em, and look here: Mr Van Heldre says--" "Has he been in the office this morning?" cried Harry hastily. "Yes, sir, he came in as soon as I'd come, nine to the minute, and he wants you to join him at the tin works about twelve." "Wigging!" said guilty conscience. "Do your head good, sir." Old Crampton resumed his seat, and for an hour and three-quarters, during which period Harry had several times looked at the clock and yawned, there was a constant scratching of pens. Then Harry Vine descended from his stool. "I'd better go now?" "Yes, sir, you'd better go now. And might have gone before for all the good you've done," grumbled the old man, as Harry passed the window. "Tut--tut--tut! What careless writing. He's spoiling my books, that he is." The old man had hardly spent another half-hour over his work when there was a sharp tapping at the door, such as might be given by the knob on a stick. "Come in." The door was opened, and Pradelle entered and gave a sharp look round. "Morning," he said in a cavalier way. "Tell Mr Vine I want to speak to him for a moment." Old Crampton looked up from his writing, and fixed his eyes on the visitor's hat. "Not at home," he said shortly. "How long will he be?" "Don't know." "Where has he gone?" "Tin works," said Crampton, resuming his writing. "Confounded old bear!" muttered Pradelle as he went out, after frowning severely at the old clerk, who did not see it. "Idle young puppy!" grumbled Crampton, dotting an I so fiercely that he drove his pen though the paper. "I'd have knocked his hat off if I had had my ruler handy. Now what does he want, I wonder?"