"You must get to work, Mr. Raymond; and I can tell you, as one who knows, that work's only dreaded by them who have never done any. You'll soon find that there's nothing better for the nerves and temper than steady work." Neddy chaffed Mr. Gurd's sentiments and Raymond said nothing. He was looking in front of him, his mind occupied with personal problems. Neddy Motyer made another encouraging suggestion. "There's your aunt, Miss Ironsyde," he said. "She's got plenty of cash, I've heard people say, and she gives tons away in charity. How do you stand with her?" "Mind your own business, Ned." "Sorry," answered the other promptly. "Only wanted to buck you up." "I'm not in need of any bucking up, thanks. If I've got to work, I'm quite equal to it. I've got more brains than Daniel, anyway. I'm quite conscious of that." "You've got tons more mind than him," declared Neddy. "And if that's the case, I could do more good, if I chose, than ever Daniel will." "Or more harm," warned Mr. Gurd. "Always remember that, Mister Raymond. The bigger the intellects, the more power for wrong as well as right." "He'll ask me to go into the works, I expect. And I may, or I may not." "I should," advised Neddy. "Bridetown is a very sporting place and you'd be alongside your pal, Arthur Waldron." "Don't go to Bridetown with an idea of sport, however--don't do that, Mister Raymond," warned Richard Gurd. "If you go, you put your back into the work and master the business of the Mill." The young men wasted an hour in futile talk and needless drinking while Gurd attended to other customers. Then Raymond Ironsyde accepted an invitation to return home with Motyer, who lived at Eype, a mile away. "I'm going to give my people a rest to-day," said Raymond as he departed. "I shall come in here for dinner, Dick." "Very good, sir," answered Mr. Gurd; but he shook his head when the young men had gone. Others in the bar hummed on the subject of young Ironsyde after his back was turned. A few stood up for him and held that he had been too severely dealt with; but the majority and those who knew most about him thought that his ill-fortune was deserved. "For look at it," said a tradesman, who knew the facts. "If he'd been left money, he'd have only wasted the lot in sporting and been worse off after than before; but now he's up against work, and work may be the saving of him. And if he won't work, let him die the death and get off the earth and make room for a better man." None denied the honourable obligation to work for every responsible human being. CHAPTER III THE HACKLER