"The world is to any man his lord or his servant--a hard master or a cringing slave, whichever a man pleases," sneered Richard. "Let him keep poor, and the world is his ruler; let him get rich, and the world will be ruled." "But I am in trouble--in great trouble," cried Jared, pleadingly. "The poor-boxes at our church have been robbed." "Well!" "Great endeavours have been made to discover the thief." "Well!" "And by some means a key got into the locker of my organ-loft." "Yes!" "And it was found by the vicar, who cruelly wrongs me with his suspicions." "Yes!" "And I am accused, and dismissed from my post." "Well!" "What shall I do? Help me with your advice. How am I to prove my innocence? What is best for me to do under the circumstances? I feel my head confused, and am at a loss how to proceed, for I cannot let it be known at home. The vicar seems to be so convinced of my guilt that he refuses to see me, and returns my letters. All I get from the churchwarden when I assert my innocence is, `Prove it, sir, prove it.' I have thought by day and by night. I have struggled hard--I have done all that a man can do, but I am as far off as ever. I was not born, Dick, with your business head--I'm not clever. You know that I never was, and now I have turned to you--" "To mix myself up in the affair?" said Richard, coldly. "No, no; to advise me--to tell me what I should do," said Jared. "Who committed the theft?" said Richard, scowling. "Indeed, indeed, I have not an idea," replied Jared, humbly. "No, of course not. Well, I can tell you, Some of your fine Decadia friends--that wretched fiddler, perhaps, that you disgraced yourself, your family, and _me_, by making a companion. And now you want me to get my name sullied, and the substantiality of my house shaken, and my credit disgraced, by being drawn into connection with a beggarly, low, contemptible piece of petty larceny? Do you think I am mad?" "Oh, no, Richard." "Hold your tongue. I've heard you--now hear me. Do you think I have gone backwards into an idiot? Do I look childish, or in my dotage? But there--some people are such fools!" To do Richard Pellet justice, he looked neither mad, idiotic, nor childish, but the image of an angry sarcastic prosperous man, as he threw himself back in his morocco-covered chair, and, stretching out his glossy legs towards the fire, scowled at his brother. "O Richard!" groaned Jared, in despair.