As more than one anxious-looking person had passed into the outer office, Ernest walked in, and found himself in the presence of a stoutish old gentleman, with a high-coloured, clean-shaved countenance, who was chuckling with great relish, and subsiding from an exhausting fit of merriment. His white waistcoat predominated much over his clothing generally, giving that colour, with the aid of a spotless domain of shirt-collar and shirt-front, an unfair advantage over his sad-coloured suit of gray tweed. ‘Good-morning to you, sir,—won’t you take a chair,’ said the old gentleman with much civility. ‘Very rude to be laughing in the face of a visitor. But that Captain Carryall told me the best story I’ve heard for ages. Picked it up at the islands last cruise. Awful fellow! You’d excuse me, I’m sure, if you knew him. How can I be of use to you, my dear sir?’ This last query belonged evidently to another region than the one into which the sea-captain, with his _cœur-de-lion_ face, had allured him. So Ernest produced his card, and a note ‘from their mutual friend, Mr. Granville, he believed.’ The old merchant glanced at the signature, and without another look hurled himself out of his armchair, and seizing Mr. Neuchamp’s hand, wrung it with affectionate earnestness. ‘My dear sir—my dear fellow,’ gasped he; ‘I’d have given a hundred pounds if our friend could have been here, and heard that yarn of Charley Carryall’s. Now, attend to me while I tell you what you’ve got to do. You’ll have enough to amuse yourself till five o’clock, and then you’re to come here with your trunk. The carriage will call punctually at that hour, and you’re to come out with me to my little place, on the South Head Road, and confer upon me the very great obligation of staying with me till you go up the country—if you do go. Now, isn’t that settled?’ ‘I am very sorry,’ stammered Ernest; ‘it is so extremely kind of you; but I have more than half promised to go up the country to-morrow to look at a station with a view to buying it.’ ‘And get sold yourself,’ interjected Mr. Frankston. ‘Not just yet, if you’ll be my boy for a year or two. Whose desirable property is it?’ ‘It belongs to a Mr. Selmore, whom I met at the Royal Hotel,’ answered Ernest, ‘who was very kind, and gave me some very good advice.’ ‘Ha! ha! ha!’ shouted the old boy, becoming very purple in the face; ‘knew it was him—Gammon Downs, eh! Wonderful man, take in his own father if he was hard up, and suffer his venerable grandsire and maiden aunts to invest their last penny in a sour grass country, with fluky sheep, Cumberland and scab given in. Hanged if he wouldn’t, and go to church immediately afterwards. Most remarkable man, Hartley Selmore!’ Mr. Neuchamp wondered how Mr. Frankston knew the name of Mr. Selmore’s valuable estate, and how he had ever made any money, if he did nothing but laugh. Indeed, it seemed to be his chief occupation in life, judging from his conduct since they had met.