joining the ranks of labor for the sake of information, but it seemed somehow impossible when it was attempted in earnest.  Decidedly, his appearance was against him.  He had the misfortune to look too much like a man who did not need to dig to easily obtain, in labor’s parlance, a job to dig.  Yet, while he thought of it, such was the man’s desperation, his rage against his odds of life, that it seemed to him that a purely physical attack on the earth, to which he was fastened by some indissoluble laws of nature which he could not grasp, would be a welcome relief.  He felt that with a heavy pick in his hand he could strike savagely at the concrete rock, the ribs of the earth, and almost enjoy himself.  He felt that it would be like an attack, although a futile and antlike one, at creation itself.  All this he thought idly, walking, even hurrying, along the slippery pavement through the pale, sleety mist.  He walked as rapidly as he could, some of the time slipping, and recovering himself with a long slide.  He came to a block of new stone houses, divided from another by a small space taken up by a little, old-fashioned, wooded structure that might have been with propriety in Banbridge.  He noticed this, and the thought came to him that possibly it was the property of some ancient and opinionated mortal who was either holding it for higher prices or for the sake of some attachment or grudge.  And just as he reached it he saw coming from the opposite direction his old book-keeper, William Allbright.  Allbright, moving with a due regard to the dangerous state of the pavement, had still an alacrity of movement rather unusual to him.  As he came nearer it was plain to see that his soberly outlined face, long and clean-shaven, was elated by something.  He started when he recognized Carroll, and stopped.  Carroll felt, meeting him a sensation of self-respect like a tonic.  Here was at least one man to whom he owed nothing, whom he had not injured.  He held out his hand.

“How do you do, Mr. Allbright?” he said.

“Quite well, thank you, Mr. Carroll,” replied Allbright, then his delight, which makes a child of most men, could not be restrained.  “I have just secured a very good position in a wholesale tea-house—­Allen, Day & Co.,” he said.

“That is good,” said Carroll, echoing the other’s enthusiasm.  He really felt a leap of joy in his soul because of the other’s good-fortune.  He felt that in some way he himself needed to be congratulated for his good-fortune, that he had been instrumental in securing it.  His face lit up.  “I am delighted, Mr. Allbright,” he repeated.

“Yes, it is a very good thing for me,” said Allbright, simply.  “I was beginning to get a little discouraged.  I had saved a little, but I did not like to spend it all, and I have my sister to take care of.”

“I am very glad,” Carroll said, still again.

Allbright then looked at him with a little attention, pushing, as it were, his own self, intensified by joy, aside.  “You are not looking very well, Mr. Carroll,” he said, deferentially, and yet with a kindly concern.