Rudyard Kipling 33 presently I will return and trample on you.” He stepped forward energetically; he saw that one of his shoes was burst at the side. As he stooped to make investigations, a man jostled him into the gutter. “All right,” he said. “That’s another nick in the score. I’ll jostle you later on. Good clothes and boots are not cheap, and Dick left his last shop with the certainty that he would be respectably arrayed for a time, but with only fifty shillings in his pocket. He returned to streets by the Docks, and lodged himself in one room, where the sheets on the bed were almost audibly marked in case of theft, and where nobody seemed to go to bed at all. When his clothes arrived he sought the Central Southern Syndicate for Torpenhow’s address, and got it, with the intimation that there was still some money waiting for him. “How much?” said Dick, as one who habitually dealt in millions. “Between thirty and forty pounds. If it would be any convenience to you, of course we could let you have it at once; but we usually settle accounts monthly.” “If I show that I want anything now, I’m lost,” he said to himself. “All I need I’ll take later on.” Then, aloud, “It’s hardly worth while; and I’m going to the country for a month, too. Wait till I come back, and Pll see about it.” “But we trust, Mr. Heldar, that you do not intend to sever your connection with us?” Dick’s business in life was the study of faces, and he watched the speaker keenly. “That man means something,” he said. “I'll do no business till I’ve seen Torpenhow. There’s a big deal coming.” So he departed, making no promises, to his one little room by the Docks. And that day was the seventh of the month, and that month, he reckoned with awful distinctness,