The Double Life Of Mr. Alfred Burton

ife. For the first time he realized the intense ugliness of this scene of his daily labors. The long desk, ink-splashed and decrepit, was covered with untidy piles of papers, so

al illustrations cut out from Comic Cuts, the Police News, and various other publications of a similar order. As Burton looked around him, his distast

inage with the remaining member of the staff. The office-boy, who had thought of something good to say, rather resente

Mr. Burton?" he inquire

shook h

d. "He wouldn't have anyth

tting on to him abou

think any one else has mentioned it to him at

ite at your best, coul

bright and eloq

r. Alfred Burton was in a very puzzled state of mind, and he neither sh

was quite polite, and I showed him everything he wished to see

larkson inquired, i

h," Burto

yer m

and that," Burton

He was being jollied, of course, but the thing was too subtle for him at present. He decided to wait for the next move. B

a purely personal matter, why do you wear such uncomfo

ol. His mouth was wide open like a rabb

he demanded, getting his ques

hen your clothes themselves, with that blue and yellow stripe, are somewhat noticeable? There is a lack of symphony about the arrangement, an entire absence o

y trousers, eh, with the blue stripe and the grease stains? What about the sham diamond stud in your dickey, and your

e took down from its nail. He gazed at himself long and steadily and from every possible angle. It is probable that for the first time in his life he saw himself then as he r

st-end milliner's shop, too. If that doesn't mean good taste, I should like to know what does. Look at your socks, too, all coming down over the tops of your boots! Nasty dirty pink and green stripes! There'

way from that looking-glass. The expre

ainly seemed to have slipped my memory that I myself-I can't t

fingernails a scrub sometimes, eh? You might give your coat a brush, too, now and then, while you

. He was down and hi

ok those paper cuffs off!" the latter exclaimed. "

ember of the firm, entered--a large, untidy-looking man, also dressed in most uncomely fashion, an

him?" he demanded,

k his head

he declared. "He seemed inclined to take it at first, but directly h

ell. He was disappointe

on," he repeated. "What

What sit

, and Lady Idlemay's refusal t

esting and instructive study. His jaw had fallen, but he w

old him?"

"I could not possibly let him re

ouldn'

ces, sir," Burton declared, watching his senior anxiously. "I am sur

tele and a fine flow of language. When he had finished, the office-boy was dumb with admiration. Burton was looking a little p

orty-four shillings a week for, I should like to know? To go and blab trade secrets to every customer that comes along? If you couldn't get

amount of confidence. "It would have been a moral falsehood if I had attempted anything of the sort

His eyes seemed on the point of coming ou

mad, Burton? What's come to you since the morning

he went on with a slight frown. "My head seems a little confused, but I cannot believe

nd the office, holding hi

ash. Go home-never mind the time-go home this minute before I break out again. Come to-morrow morning, as usual. We'll talk it out then. God bless my soul!" he added, as Burton pic

arkson said, with dignity, as his senior disappeared

e it before?" Mr. W

morning when he went out. His last words were that he'd b

towards his sanctum. "He's either gone dotty or he's been dri

hop-windows for fear he should see his own reflection. He made his way unfalteringly to an outfitter's shop, and from there, with a bundle under his arm, to the baths. It was a very different Alfred Burton indeed who, an hour or two later, issued forth into the streets. Gone was the Cockney young man with the sandy moustache, the cheap silk hat worn at various angles to give himself a rakish air, the flashy clothes, cheap and pretentious, the assured, not to say bumptious air so sedulously copied from the deportment of his employer. Enter a new and completely transformed Alfred Burton, an inoffensive-looking young man in a neat gray suit, a lilac-colored tie of delicate shade, a flannel shirt with no pretence at cuffs, but with a spotless turned down collar, a soft Homburg hat, a clean-shaven lip. With a new sense of self-respect and an immense feeling of relief, Burton, after a few moments' hesitation, directed his footsteps towards the National Gallery. He had once been there years ago on a wet Bank Holiday, and some faint instinct of memory which somehow or other

t place upon the boards. From somewhere among the hidden cells of his memory came a glimmering recollection-a word or two read at random, an impression, only half understood, yet the germ of which had survived.