The law's very respectable; but I know I'd be no good for that.

I might manage to serve tea and raisins behind a grocer's counter, or run errands, or--" "Or black boots," suggested Reginald.
"Black boots! I bet you neither you nor I could black a pair of boots properly to save our lives." "It seems to me we shall have to try it this very morning," said Reginald, "for no one has touched mine since last night." "But who are your letters from ?" said Mrs Cruden.

"Are they very private ?" "Not mine," said Horace.

"It's from old Harker.

You may read it if you like, mother." Mrs Cruden took the letter and read aloud,-- "Dear Horrors--" ("That's what he calls me, you know," explained Horace, in a parenthesis.) "I am so awfully sorry to hear of your new trouble about money matters, and that you will have to leave Garden Vale.