Ernie was now steadily ablaze. His heart was set; his purpose resolved; there was no faltering in his faith. The armour in which his spirit was cased revealed no fissures under strain. He was amazed at his own strength, and at the illimitable resources on which he could draw at will.
People who saw him at this time, swept by the March winds, haggard and pinched at the Star corner, wondered at the flame of determination burning in his face.
"He seems always waiting for some one," said Elsie Pigott, who, like many another woman, was haunted by his wistful eyes at night.
"Perhaps he is," answered Mrs. Trupp.
It was the slackest season of the year—between Christmas and Easter; and there was no work obtainable. Building was held up by the frosts; visitors were sporadic; and in the East-end a strike of engineers in the great railway shops had dislocated trade.
Elsie Pigott pleaded with her husband for her favourite; but for once she could not tease or taunt the Manager of the Southdown Transport Company in acquiescence with her wishes.
"No," he said, sturdily, "if he wants my help he must come and ask for it. Last time I offered him a job he snubbed me brutally. I've got my self-respect same as others."
That evening she came to his door.
"Please, sir," she said, dropping a curtsey, "Mr. Ernest Caspar!—will you see him?"
He scowled at her over his Christian Commonwealth.