“Well, I only thought,” persisted Jabez. “I wish you’d think and keep those umbrellas clear of the beam. You’re always thrutching past with great loads on your shoulder when I am weighing out,” interrupted Kit, testily, and Jabez held his peace. But if he went on his way quietly, he was equally observant, and saw the same thing happen again too often to be the result of accident. Moreover, from the window of the little room where he had a broad desk for designing, he saw Kit meet the same men and women stealthily after hours under the opposite gateway. “Kit,” said he, one night, when they went to their attic, “what do you meet Jackson, Bradley, and Mary Taylor under the gateway for so often?” Kit, arrested with his warehouse jacket half on and half off, asked sharply— “Who says I meet them under the gateway?” “I say so. I have seen you myself.” “And what if you have?” Kit retorted, snappishly. “There’s no harm in saying a civil word to poor folk that I know of.” “No harm, if that were all,” returned Jabez, seriously, sitting down on the edge of his truckle-bed to take off his blue worsted stockings (knitted by himself), “but I have seen them give you money.” “And what of that, you Blue-coat spy! If they’re kind enough to call at old mother Clowes’s shop for toffy and humbugs for me, and give me the change back, what’s that to you?” he blustered, coming up to Jabez with a defiant air. “I know you’ve a sweet tooth, Townley,” replied Jabez, unmoved, “but I fear nothing half so good as Mrs. Clowes’ toffy takes you there so stealthily.” “Perhaps, Mr. Wiseacre, you know my business better than myself?” returned Kit, bold as brass, though he did begin to feel qualmish. “Perhaps I do, for I suspect you of double-dealing, and I know what the end of that must be; and I warn you that I cannot stand by and see our good master robbed. I should be as bad as you if I did.” Townley, enraged, struck at him, and there was a scuffle in the dark, the bit of candle in their horn lantern having burnt out. Kezia, who slept in the adjoining attic, rated them soundly the next morning for the disturbance they had made, threatening to tell Mrs. Ashton. Had she done so, inquiry would have followed. Jabez, troubled and perplexed, the very next Sunday, consulted old Simon Clegg as to the course he should pursue, being alike unwilling to tell tales on suspicion, or to see his kind master wronged.