“Go on,” said I dictatorially, and continued: “'Thrown by a mere accident myself into his society, I was so struck by his attainments, the originality of his views, and the wide extent of his knowledge of life----' Have you _that_ down?” “No,” said he, in some confusion; “I am only at 'entertainments.'” “I said 'attainments,' sir,” said I rebukingly, and then repeating the passage word for word, till he had written it--“'that I conceived for him a regard and an esteem rarely accorded to others than our oldest friends.' One word more: 'Potts, from certain circumstances, which I cannot here enter upon, may appear to you in some temporary inconvenience as regards money----'” Here the captain stopped, and gave me a most significant look: it was at once an appreciation and an expression of drollery. “Go on,” said I dryly. “'If so,'” resumed I, “'be guardedly cautious neither to notice his embarrassment nor allude to it; above all, take especial care that you make no offer to remove the inconvenience, for he is one of those whose sensibilities are so fine, and whose sentiments sa fastidious, that he could never recover, in his own esteem, the dignity compromised by such an incident.'” “Very neatly turned,” said he, as he re-read the passage. “I think that's quite enough.” “Ample. You have nothing more to do than sign your name to it.” He did this, with a verificatory flourish at foot, folded and sealed the letter, and handed it to me, saying-- “If it weren't for the handwriting, Bob would never believe all that fine stuff came from _me_; but you 'll tell him it was after three glasses of brandy-and-water that I dashed it off--that will explain everything.” I promised faithfully to make the required explanation, and then proceeded to make some inquiries about this brother Bob, whose nature was in such a close affinity with my own. I could learn, however, but little beyond the muttered acknowledgment that Bob was a “queer 'un,” and that there was never his equal for “falling upon good-luck, and spending it after,” a description which, when applied to my own conscience, told an amount of truth that was actually painful. “There's no saying,” said I, as I pocketed the letter, “if this epistle should ever reach your brother's hand, my course in life is too wayward and uncertain for me to say in what corner of the earth fate may find me; but if we _are_ to meet, you shall hear of it. Rogers”--I said, “this you extended to me, at a time that, to all seeming, I needed such attentions--at a time, I say, when none but myself could know how independently I stood as regarded means; and of one thing be assured, Rogers, he whose caprice it now is to call himself Potts, is your friend, your fast friend, for life.”