Having permitted himself a freedom of speech which he felt to be highly injudicious, Mr. Dodson returned Homer to the boy without seeing fit to administer further physical correction, and retired to the fire-place to stand with his back thereto and his coat-tails outspread, that favourite attitude of so many searching intellects, and proceeded, in his own phrase, “to take his bearings.” Mr. Dodson’s first and most natural instinct was to heighten his already considerable reputation as an after-luncheon _raconteur_, by advertising this new facet to the character of him upon whom he had bestowed the title of “The Marvel.” But however great his thirst for the notoriety of a little brief applause, the mature outlook of the man of the world was soon able to correct it. “Mum is the word, my son,” said the philosopher, as the warmth of the fire communicated itself pleasantly to his being. “Mum is the word. If it should come to the ears of Octavius that that kid reads Greek in his luncheon hour for his own amusement, he will go up-stairs and no earthly power can prevent it. And,” he added, “if that kid does go up-stairs where will you be, Matthew Arnold Dodson?” The philosopher did not deem it necessary to frame a reply to these reflections, but sauntered across the room to the high stool on which was seated the subject of them. “Luney,” he said, slowly and impressively, “you are a highly-educated youth, I quite recognize that, but it is not considered the thing to read Greek in the counting-house of Crumpett and Hawker. I have only one word of advice to give you. If by any chance you should _ever_ let Pa catch you reading it, it will mean serious trouble for you, my son, for you must not forget that it is as much as Pa himself can do to read Homer in the original.” It reassured Mr. Dodson’s sense of propriety to observe that the boy had already returned the opprobrious volume to his pocket. “Let us hope he will keep it there,” he said under his breath piously. That evening, as the clock told the hour of seven, William Jordan, Junior, was honoured by the most signal act of condescension on the part of his mentor that had as yet been vouchsafed to him. “Luney,” said Mr. Dodson, “your best way to Milton Street, E.C., is to go down the Strand and to take a ’bus from Ludgate Circus. I am going down the Strand myself; if you like we will toddle down together.” A few minutes later William Jordan, Junior, might have been discerned walking down the Strand in association with his mentor. The eminent worldling had his arm within that of his _protégé_. “Luney,” he said, “out of office hours you can call me Jimmy.” As they went their way, with the whole of the conversation furnished entirely by one only of the parties to it, Mr. Dodson produced an elaborate silver case. “Smoke?” he said. “Oh n-n-no,” said the boy, startled in much the same way as he would have been had he been asked whether he committed murders.