THE KING OF SCHNORRERS. 39
Tenterground. " At any rate I've done with him," he said, and hummed a tune. The sudden bursting open of the door froze it upon his lips. He was almost relieved to find the intruder was only his wife.
"What have you done with Wilkinson?" she cried vehe- mently. She was a pale, puffy-faced, portly matron, with a permanent air of remembering the exact figure of her dowry.
" With Wilkinson, my dear? Nothing."
" Well, he isn't in the house. I want him, but cook says you've sent him out."
" I ? Oh, no," he returned, with dawning uneasiness, looking away from her sceptical gaze.
Suddenly his pupils dilated. A picture from without had painted itself on his retina. It was a picture of Wilkinson — Wilkinson the austere, Wilkinson the unbending — treading the Tenterground gravel, curved beneath a box ! Before him strode the Schnorrer.
Never during all his tenure of service in Goodman's Fields had Wilkinson carried anything on his shoulders but his livery. Grobstock would have as soon dreamt of his wife consenting to wear cotton. He rubbed his eyes, but the image persisted.
He clutched at the window curtains to steady himself.
" My Persian curtains ! " cried his wife. " What is the matter with you?"
" He must be the Baal Shem himself ! " gasped Grobstock unheeding.
" What is it? What are you looking at? "
"N — nothing."
Mrs. Grobstock incredulously approached the window and stared through the panes. She saw Wilkinson in the gardens, but did not recognise him in his new attitude. She con- cluded that her husband's agitation must have some connec-
