SO it was that at last Edward Albert entered the presence of Jim Whittaker. He was ushered through long aisles of shining and glittering glass ware and china and porcelain into a large comfortable office where Mr James Whittaker was dictating letters to a bright-haired young stenographer.

“That’s Tewler,” he said, looking round for an instant.

“Glad to see you, my boy. Sit down on that sofa there. I’ll be done with these letters in a brace of shakes and then we’ll have a talk.”

Dreams of being the missing heir or the long-lost son or half brother vanished beyond recall. Edward Albert reverted to the feudal system. He had been preparing for this encounter for four days, chiefly in the Public Library and with the librarian’s assistance, and his meditations and enquiries had not been without result.

“That’s all for the present, Miss Scoresby,” said Mr Whittaker and rotated startlingly in his chair as the bright — haired secretary gathered up her pads and pencils. Edward Albert had never seen a rotating armchair before. “Let’s have a look at you, young Tewler. What sort of hands have you got?”

Edward Albert hesitated, but under encouragement held out his hands.

“Not like your father’s. His were broader. You don’t happen to draw or paint or do anything like that?”

“No, I don’t, Sir,” said Edward Albert.

“H’m. No fretwork or anything of that sort?”

“I’m not much use with my ‘ands, Sir. No.”

“You can put ’em down. H’m, So you don’t take after your father in that sort of thing. That’s a pity. What we are going to do about you, Mr Edward Albert Tewler, I don’t quite know. Old Myame has blown up like a powder magazine. He doesn’t seem to like you a bit. You’ve just put him out something awful. . . . ”

“I reely didn’t mean to ‘urt Mr Myame, Sir. I reely didn’t. ‘E’s a good man, ‘E really is a good man, but I did think I’d a right to see you. After you sent that wreath and everything. He’s Narrer, Sir. That’s the fact about ’im. ‘E’-s Narrer. ‘E5s got it into his head you’re not a Believing Christian and that you’re worldly and that seeing you won’t do me anything but serious harm. So he don’t seem to mind what he said or did so long as I didn’t see you. He’s called me perfectly dreadful things. Sir, perfectly dreadful things. Serpents. Poison, Sir. Coals of Jupiter, ‘e says, got to be ‘eaped on my head. What are coals of Jupiter, Sir? He’s sent me to Coventry. None of the boys must speak to me or me say anything to them. He says he can’t bear the sight of me. Spawn of the devil he says I am. He’s turned me out of the classes and I’ve had to go and sit all day in the Public Library. It isn’t fair to me, Sir; it isn’t fair. I never meant to ‘urt ’im like that.”

He sat forward on the sofa, hands on knees, a mean and meagre little creature, under-nourished and crazily taught, doing his best to exist and make something of a world of which his fundamental idea was that you cannot be too careful. He sensed rather than apprehended the feudal link that put Mr James Whittaker under an obligation to him.

“He did ask you not to talk to me; didn’t he”?”

“But how was I to know, Sir, that he’d take it so serious?”

“Right up to the time he found out, he was all right with you?”

“He was strict, Sir. But then he’s naturally strict. He’s such an upright man, Sir. He don’t seem to understand disobedience.”

“Quite like his Old Man,” said Jim Whittaker, but his impiety was happily over the head of his hearer. “And then you became an adder and so forth and so on.”

“Yessir.”

“What are these coals of Jupiter you keep talking about?” asked Jim Whittaker. “I’ve never heard of them.”

“I don’t know rightly what they are, Sir, but they’re sure to be something very disagreeable, Sir, if ‘e got ’em out of the Bible. They’re ‘eaped on your ‘ed, you see, Sir.”

“What, when you go to hell?”

“Before that, I think. Sir. I thought you might know, Sir.”

“No. I must look it up. And so you’re not a Believing Christian, Jo — I mean Edward. You’re beginning Doubt very young.”

“Oo! No, Sir,” protested Edward Albert, much alarmed. “Don’t imagine that. I ‘ope I’m one of the Saved. I know that my Redeemer liveth. But what I feel, Sir, is that it isn’t anything to get so Narrer about. That’s where I seem to ‘ave ‘urt Mr Myame.”

“There’s something in that. Tell me some more about what you believe? If you don’t mind.”

Edward Albert made a great effort. “Well, Christianity! Sir. What everybody knows in England. Chrise died for me and all that. I suppose he k............