"I wonder," he said, lighting a spill and puffing, "where young Lance got his figures from. I also wonder what the game is. He was obviously a bit worked up, and I should say he had been fortifying himself for the interview before he arrived. I knew, of course, that he had never forgiven me for being put in charge of Joey's affairs: he has always made things as difficult for me as possible. Perhaps he wants a trifle for himself: his closing remarks rather pointed that way. But what on earth is friend Haliburton doing in that galley? I fancy he has been at the back of things all along. What interest has _he_ in the amount of Joey's fortune? I don't know much about him, but I wouldn't trust him a yard. Perhaps Lance owes him money. Have they gone, John?" "Aye," replied Mr. Goble. "They went quite quietly," he added regretfully. He began to lay the table for luncheon. "I say, John," began Hughie awkwardly. "Aye?" "There's a thing I want to speak to you about. I have been losing money lately, and I have to give up some luxuries I can't afford. I--I am afraid you are one of them. I have always regarded a man-servant as an extravagance," he went on with a rush, "and I must ask you to look about for another place. Take your time, of course, and don't leave me till you are suited. I shall be glad to give you a character, and all that. You understand?" There was a silence, while Mr. Goble folded a napkin. Then he replied: "Fine!" Then he added, after a pause, "So you've been lossin' your money? Aye! Aha! Mphm!" "Yes. I'm desperately sorry," said Hughie penitently. "I don't want to lose you. Perhaps it will only be tempor--" "You'll no be daen' that yet a while," remarked Mr. Goble morosely. "I'm an ill body tae move." "But, John, you don't understand. I can't afford to keep you for more than--" "There a cab!" observed Mr. Goble. Hughie looked down out of the window. "So it is," he said hastily. "I'll show them up, John. You go on with your work." He was across and out of the room in three strides, and could be heard descending the stairs kangaroo fashion. Mr. John Goble breathed heavily into a spoon and rubbed it with the point of his elbow. "I wunner wha his visitors is," he mused caustically. "Of course he always opens the door himsel' tae all his visitors! Of course I dinna ken wha she is! Oh, no!" He wagged his head in a broken-hearted manner, and gave vent to a depressing sound which a brother Scot would have recognised as a chuckle of intense amusement.