ANGEL PAVEMENT

office, and Mr. Smeeth, whose chief duty during that
time was to examine a number of replies to Twigg and
Dersingham's advertisement for an office boy, found it
difficult to concentrate his attention upon these rather
monotonous letters, all in round handwriting that began
well, but always wobbled towards the end. He was
curious to know what was happening in the private
office. Now and again he had heard voices raised, and
once the door had opened, so that Mr. Golspie's booming
tones had come flying out into the general office, but the
next minute the door had been closed again, Just after
half-past eleven, the bell in the private office rang
dramatically. Miss Sellers, now the junior, answered it,
and came back to say: "Mr. Smeeth, Mr. Dersingham
wants to see you."

The private office was filled with cigar and cigarette
smoke, and Mr. Golspie, who stood in front of the fire,
his legs wide part, clearly dominated the scene. Mr,
Dersingham, sitting at his table, was rather rumpled and
flushed and obviously not at ease.

"A-ha!n Mr. Golspie cried, "here's Smeeth. He's the
man. He'll tidy us up a bit. You know, Smeeth, if I'd
been as tidy as you, as good at putting down little figures
every day, never forgetting 'em, adding 'em up, I'd have
been a rich man now/'

"Well, I'm not a rich man, Mr. Golspie,'1 said Mr.
Smeeth, smiling nervously.

"No, but I didn't say—if I could do that and nothing
else, d'you follow me? What I meant was, if I could do
what you do, plus what I can already do, I'd be a very
rich man now, and you wouldn't find me in a dust-bin,
eh? Now if you want to make money, Dersingham,
really make money, pile up a big fortune, youVe only to