Dicky completed his round, and pushed his unladen trolley¹ Grinder-ward with a fuller sense of responsibility than ever. For he carried money. A publican had paid him four and threepence, and he had taken two and tenpence elsewhere. He had left his proud signature, pencilled large and black, on two receipts, and he stopped in a dozen doorways³ to count the money over again, and make sure that all was right. Between the halts he added four and three to two and ten mentally, and proved his sum correct by subtracting each in turn from seven and a penny. And at last he stood his trolley on end by the bank of saucepans, and entered the shop.  
'Walker's is paid, an' Wilkins is paid,' said Dicky, putting down the money. 'Two an' ten an' four an' three's seven an' a penny.'
 
Mr Grinder looked steadily⁴ and sourly at Dicky, and counted. He pitched the odd penny into the till and shook the rest of the coins in his closed hand, still staring moodily⁵ in the boy's face. 'It's three an' six a week you come 'ere at,' he said.
 
'Yus sir,' Dicky replied, since Grinder seemed to expect an answer. The supreme⁶ moment when he should take his first wages had been the week's beacon⁷ to him, reddening and brightening as Saturday night grew nearer.
 
'Three an' six a week an' yer tea.'
 
Dicky wondered.
 
'So as if I found out anythink about—say Brass⁸ Roastin'-jacks for instance—I could give ye yer three an' six an' start y' auf, unless I did somethin' wuss.'
 
Dicky was all incomprehension; but something made him feel a little sick.
 
'But s'posin' I didn't find out anythink about—say Seven-pun' Jars o' Pickles⁹—an' s'pose I wasn't disposed to suspect anythink in regard to—say Doormats; then I could either give ye a week s notice or pay y' a week's money an' clear y' out on the spot, without no more trouble.'
 
Mr Grinder paused, and still looked at Dicky with calm dislike. Then he added, as though in answer to himself, 'Yus.' ...
 
He dropped the money slowly from his right hand to his left. Dicky's mouth was dry, and the drawers and pickle-jars swam before him at each side of Grinder's head. What did it mean?
 
''Ere y' are,' cried Mr Grinder, with sudden energy, thrusting his hand across the counter. 'Two three-and-sixes is seven shillin's, an' you can git yer tea at 'ome with yer dirty little sister. Git out o' my shop!'
 
Dicky's hand closed mechanically on the money, and after a second's pause, he found broken speech. 'W—w—wot for, sir?' he asked, huskily. 'I ain't done nothink!'
 
'No, an' you sha'n't do nothink, that's more. Out ye go! If I see ye near the place agin I'll 'ave ye locked up!'
 
Dicky slunk to the door. He felt the

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