Some indication has been given of the success of Timothy Chance's service with Mr. Loveday. There are men, like Kingsley Manners, who, being suddenly thrust upon the world to shift for themselves, find themselves plunged into a sea of difficulties, extrication from which is impossible except by some unexpected windfall of fortune. There are others who are so well armed for difficulties that the encountering of them serves as an incentive and a spur. What depresses one elevates the other; what makes one despondent makes the other cheerful. It is chiefly a matter of early education, in which adversity is frequently a factor for good. Partly, also, it is a matter of adaptability.

It may be taken for granted that wherever Timothy Chance fell he would fall upon his feet, and that he would be among the first to take advantage of an opportunity. A hard-working, faithful servant, but with an eye to his own interests. It is running far ahead of events to state that when he was a middle-aged man, with a house of his own, there stood upon a bracket in his private room the image of a hen fashioned in gold--a valuable ornament; for the gold was of the purest, and the bird was of life-size; and that the sense of possession imparted a satisfaction to Timothy Chance far beyond its value. He amused himself by the fancy that the fowl of gold was an exact reproduction of the living fowl which he had rescued from the fire in the schoolhouse, and which had laid an egg in Mr. Loveday's shop on the day of Timothy's return to London. The goose of the fable that laid golden eggs was an insignificant bird in comparison with Timothy Chance's first fowl. There was at first a difficulty respecting its habitation. Mr. Loveday's shop had no backyard, and for the sake of cleanliness it could not be kept in the house. There were, however, plenty of backyards in the immediate vicinity of Church Alley, and to the proprietor of one of these Timothy betook himself, arranging to pay rent in kind, that is to say (for we are approaching legal ground), one new-laid egg per week, or, in default, its full retail value, seven farthings. For it was not long before Timothy discovered that he could dispose of a limited number of new-laid eggs--the day of laying being guaranteed--to private persons at that rate per egg. Timothy's hen was certainly a wonderful layer; during the first thirty-one days of its tenancy of the Whitechapel backyard it laid no fewer than twenty-six eggs, which, deducting five for rental, left twenty-one to the good. A retired butterman, who should undoubtedly have been a good judge, engaged to take them all at the price above mentioned, and at the end of the month the account stood thus:

This is a precise copy of the account made out by Timothy Chance, on the termination of the month; and with the figures, clear and well-shaped, before him, Timothy devoted himself to thought. His service with the seller of second-hand books had served him in good stead. He had rummaged out from among the stock at least a score of books treating of fowls and their produce, and he had studied them attentively. Some were old, one or two were of late years, and they all pointed to one fact--that money was to be made out of eggs. Most of the writers deplored the fact that the English people were so blind to their own interests as to systematically neglect a subject so fruitful. One of the treatises dealt in large figures--to wit, the population of Great Britain, and the number of eggs by them consumed annually; further, the number of eggs laid in the kingdom, and the number we were compelled to import to satisfy the demand, amounting not to scores but to hundreds of millions. Timothy's eyes dilated. One daring enthusiast went so far as to print pages of statistics to prove that if government took the affair in hand it could, in a certain number of years (number forgotten by the present chronicler), pay off the national debt. This, perhaps, was too extravagant, but the fact remained, and appeared incontrovertible, that money was to be made out of eggs. Here was plain proof--one shilling and ninepence farthing made out of one hen in a single month.

"Let me see," mused Timothy, "how this turns out for a year."

Down went the figures.

For a moment he forgot the rent, but he remembered it before he went into the credit side, and he reckoned it at a penny a week, which made the total expenses £1 2s. 6½d.

Timothy was aware that he could not reckon upon an egg a day all through the year, but his reading-up on the subject, and the calculations he had made, convinced him that a fair-laying hen might be depended upon for two hundred and forty eggs during the three hundred and sixty-five days.

"At three-halfpence each," he mused, and set down the figures, "that will bring in thirty shillings. Say it brings in only twenty-eight shillings, and make the total charges one pound four, and there remains a clear profit of four shillings for the year. Then the fowl itself, supposing I sell it at the end of the year, is worth at least a shilling. A profit of five shillings on one hen. On twenty, a profit of five pounds; on a hundred, a profit of twenty-five pounds; on a thousand, a profit of two hundred and fifty pounds."

The figures almost took his breath away. Let it be understood that Timothy's reflections and calculations are here pretty accurately reported. He continued. So large a number of eggs would have to be sold wholesale, and three-halfpence each could not be reckoned upon, but then the rent would be much less, and the cost of food much less; and there were other ideas floating in his mind which he could not formulate, and about which there was no cause for his troubling himself just at present.

"Mr. Loveday," said he to his employer, "if a speculation is entered into in a small way and leaves a small profit, would it not leave a larger profit if entered into in a large way?"

"That," replied Mr. Loveday, "stands to reason. What is your head running on, Timothy?"

"Eggs, sir," said Timothy.

Mr. Loveday stared at him for a few moments without speaking.

"That is what you have been studying books on poultry for?" he said, presently.

"Yes, sir."

"Well," said Mr. Loveday, after another pause, "there's something in eggs, I dare say. Some of the peasantry in France make quite an income out of them; our own poor country-folk are not so far-seeing."

"What can be done in France," said Timothy, patriotically and sententiously, "can be done in England."

"Don't be too certain of that," said Mr. Loveday. "They grow grapes in France and make wine. We don't."

"That is a matter of climate," remarked Timothy. "Fowls lay eggs in every country in the world, and once laid, there they are."

"To be sure," said Mr. Loveday, staring at his assistant, "there they are."

"Anyhow," said Timothy, "nothing can alter that what will pay in a small way ought to pay in a large; can it, sir?"

"The conclusion appears sensible and reasonable. I suppose you have made something out of your fowl?"

"Nearly two shillings in the month, sir."

"Not at all bad," said Mr. Loveday, "not at all bad. You must take the breed into account."

"Black Hamburgs, sir, that's the breed for eggs."

"Dorkings, I should say," suggested Mr. Loveday.

"Black Hamburgs will beat them, sir," said Timothy, confidently; and Mr. Loveday, feeling that he was on unsafe ground, wisely held his tongue.

Timothy had saved between five and six shillings out of his wages, and he expended the whole of his savings in putting up a rough fowl-house, and in the addition of a black Hamburg to his live-stock. He began to feel like a proprietor.

"Slow and sure, you know, Timothy," advised Mr. Loveday.

"Yes, sir, and thank you," said Timothy. "I will endeavor not to make mistakes."

"We shall have you chancellor of the exchequer in course of time," said Mr. Loveday, in a tone by no means unkindly.

"I shall be content to earn a living, sir," said Timothy, modestly; and rejoiced largely when he showed his employer two new-laid eggs in one day.