The little shop was not paying. The realisation came insensibly. Winslow was not the man for definite addition and subtraction and sudden discovery. He became aware of the truth in his mind gradually, as though it had always been there. A lot of facts had converged and led him there. There was that line of cretonnes--four half-pieces--untouched, save for half a yard sold to cover a stool. There were those shirtings at 4¾d.--Bandersnatch, in the Broadway, was selling them at 2¾d.--under cost, in fact. (Surely Bandersnatch might let a man live!) Those servants' caps, a selling line, needed replenishing, and that brought back the memory of Winslow's sole wholesale dealers, Helter, Skelter, & Grab. Why! how about their account? Winslow stood with a big green box open on the counter before him when he thought of it. His pale grey eyes grew a little rounder; his pale, straggling moustache twitched. He had been drifting along, day after day. He went round to the ramshackle cash-desk in the corner--it was Winslow's weakness to sell his goods over the counter, give his customers a duplicate bill, and then dodge into the desk to receive the money, as though he doubted his own honesty. His lank forefinger, with the prominent joints, ran down the bright little calendar ("Clack's Cottons last for All Time"). "One--two--three; three weeks an' a day!" said Winslow, staring. "March! Only three weeks and a day. It _can't_ be." "Tea, dear," said Mrs. Winslow, opening the door with the glass window and the white blind that communicated with the parlour. "One minute," said Winslow, and began unlocking the desk. An irritable old gentleman, very hot and red about the face, and in a heavy fur-lined cloak, came in noisily. Mrs. Winslow vanished. "Ugh!" said the old gentleman. "Pocket-handkerchief." "Yes, sir," said Winslow. "About what price"-- "Ugh!" said the old gentleman. "Poggit-handkerchief, quig!" Winslow began to feel flustered. He produced two boxes. "These, sir"--began Winslow. "Sheed tin!" said the old gentleman, clutching the stiffness of the linen. "Wad to blow my nose--not haggit about." "A cotton one, p'raps, sir?" said Winslow. "How much?" said the old gentleman over the handkerchief. "Sevenpence, sir. There's nothing more I can show you? No ties, braces--?" "Damn!" said the old gentleman, fumbling in his ticket-pocket, and finally producing half a crown. Winslow looked round for his little metallic duplicate-book which he kept in various fixtures, according to circumstances, and then he caught the old gentleman's eye. He went straight to the desk at once and got the change, with an entire disregard of the routine of the shop.