Early in the afternoon Martin was surprised to see enter the shop the old Frenchman who lived above the Gollops. At the moment he was polishing some silver plate in the back premises, along with two of the ’prentices. The third was behind the counter, and the Frenchman asked him, in his queer broken English, if he might see Mr. Slocum.

The ’prentice went into Mr. Slocum’s office, and, returning in a few moments, bade the visitor, not too politely, to follow him. The door of the office was closed behind him.

“What’s old Froggy want now?” said one of the ’prentices.

Martin looked at the speaker in surprise. He had not himself seen Mounseer in the shop before, but evidently this was not his first visit.

“I’d like to know,” replied his opponent of the previous day. “I wonder he dares to show himself in a respectable shop. His clothes aren’t fit for a scarecrow.”

Martin flushed. The Frenchman was his friend, a kindly, courteous, dignified gentleman, and he disliked to hear him criticised. It was true, Martin had to admit, now that his attention had been called to him, that his clothes were shabby; but they were well made, and of good quality. For the first time Martin asked himself whether the old man was very poor.

“I wonder where he lives,” the first ’prentice went on. “He’s never had anything sent home, has he?”

“Not that I know of,” was the answer. “I dare say he lives in some filthy cellar and feeds on rats and mice. He’s come a-begging, I should think; but he won’t get much out of old Slocum.”

Martin had been growing more and more indignant, and could remain silent no longer.

“Let me tell you the French gentleman is a friend of mine, and lives in my house,” he blurted out.

“Oh, indeed! A friend of yours, is he? And you and he live in the same cellar, I suppose, and share the vermin? I’m not surprised.”

“He doesn’t live in a cellar. You’d better say no more about him; I won’t stand it.”

“I’ll say what I like without asking you. He’s a miserable old scarecrow of a foreigner, and we don’t want people like him in London. He would make a good guy for the Fifth of November. I’d like to light some crackers under him and see him jump.”

This was more than 

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