550 ANGEL PAVEMENT

unusual activities of Mr. Dersingham, who appeared to
be moving uneasily now in the private office, were con-
sidered to be fantastically significant.

"Who was that?" Mr. Smeeth asked, after several
doors had banged and Gregory had returned from be-
hind the frosted glass partition.

"I think it was a telegraph-boy, sir," replied Gregory
sadly.

"How d'you mean—you think it was?"

"Mr. Dersingham was there, sir. He got there first,
and he was holding the door open and taking something,
so I couldn't see who it was properly. I only saw an arm,
and it looked like a telegraph-boy. You see what I mean
about the door, sir? It comes back, inside, when it opens,
and Mr. Dersingham was holding it with one hand, and
so the door was in the way, you see—"

"Yes, yes, yes, I see. No need to make such a song
about it, boy." There was a sad earnestness about this
new boy that had been rather impressive at first, but now
it only irritated Mr. Smeeth. He liked a boy to be con-
scientious with his work, but this one was too dolefully
dutiful. You could not even relieve your feelings by
telling him sharply to get on with his work, because he
never stopped doing something, toiling away like a
spectacled young sheep. Mr. Smeeth wished now he had
chosen a brighter boy, even if the lad would have larked
about a bit.

"Smeeth. Smeeth."

"Yes, Mr. Dersingham," Mr. Smeeth called back,
frowning a little. He did not like to be summoned in
this fashion, by a shout from the door of the private
office; it was not dignified. He hurried in, however,
for Mr. Dersingham sounded as if he had something