It had taken him a long time to begin, for he had to make his own paste. Then while the paste was cooling, he had to fetch his scissors, and it was while fetching these that he had seen, given chase to, and missed Dally Watlock. He had returned to his work and trimmed the rolls of paper, frowning very severely the while. That took him to dinner-time, with the paper suggesting Dally at every turn. It rustled like Dally's clothes did when she whisked round; the selvage he cut off ran up into curls like Dally's hair; it smelt like Dally--a peculiarly fresh, soapy odour; it suggested a snug cottage that he would paper with his own hands; and then, too, the pattern--how he would like to buy Dally a dress like that. After dinner the paper still suggested Dally so much, as aforesaid, with its wreaths and flowers that as Joe Chegg worked away he had slowly achieved to the hanging of three pieces, when Mrs Berens, all silk and scent and lace, rustled into the room to see how he was getting on. "Why, Joe," she exclaimed; "you've hung it upside down!" It was no wonder, for ever since he had seen Dally that morning, Joe Chegg had been upside down. He did not, like Mr Sullivan's immortalised British workman, say, "It'll be all right when it's dry," but looked sheepish, and stared hard at the paper, to see that the roses were all hanging their heads, and the stems pointing straight up. "Upside down, ma'am?" he said, with a feeble smile. "Yes, Joe; and you a gardener. Now, did you ever see flowers grow like that?" "When they've come unnailed, ma'am," said Joe, with a happy thought. "Nonsense, man! It looks ridiculous." "Shall I peel it off, ma'am?" "No; absurd! You must paper all over that again. It's just so much waste of paper-hanging. There, don't stare, man, but go on." Mrs Berens was rather cross, and she snubbed Joe Chegg in a way that brought tears to the young man's eyes, which he concealed by stooping over the paste pail, and slopping about the contents so vigorously that Mrs Berens, in dread for her garments, hastily beat a retreat. "It's of no good," said Joe Chegg, "a man can't hang paper properly when he's in love; and when he's crossed and crissed and bothered as I am, he feels a deal more fit to hang himself. I'll go and do it!" This expression of a determination, however, alluded to something in Joe Chegg's mind which had nothing whatever to do with what lawyers term in legal language _sus per col_. He had made certain plans in his own head, and the cogitating over these had resulted in Mrs Berens' paper-hangings being upside down; and for the furtherance of these plans he packed up his work for the day, went down into the kitchen, where he announced to the maids that he was going to fetch his tools, and then started off home.