But with all his precocious ways, Pod was a good son to his mother--a poor hard-working widow with a large family, of whom Pod was the eldest. He did his best to help her in every way, and would nurse the baby for hours together when he got home of an evening. He was not unmindful that his education had been a poor one, and three evenings a week he attended a night school, where he laid a tolerable foundation both of French and Latin; but of this he said nothing to Mr. Hammond. Neither did he say anything of the numerous books he was in the habit of obtaining from the town library, and over which he would pore of a night long after everyone else in the house was fast asleep. Gerald Warburton was duly ushered by Pod into the private office. "If you can wait a minute or two, Mr. Kelvin won't be long," he said, as he handed Gerald a chair and a newspaper. Five minutes later, Matthew Kelvin opened the door and walked in. Gerald rose as he entered, smiled, and held out his hand. For a moment or two Kelvin was evidently at a loss. "I seem to know your face," he said, "and yet you must excuse me if for the moment I fail to recollect where I have seen it before." "Don't you recollect Jack Pomeroy and the Jolly Anglers' at Grasmere?" "Of course, of course!" shaking him by the hand. "How one's memory fails as one grows older! But sit down and tell me how you have been getting on all this long time." "Oh, with the proverbial luck of the rolling stone," said Gerald, as he resumed his seat. Kelvin by this time had been able to note his visitor's appearance--to note that his clothes, although originally well-made, were now worn and shabby: and Kelvin never liked a man who did not dress well; to note that there was not a single item of jewellery visible, that his scarf was without a pin, and his pocket minus a watch, and that altogether there was a decidedly impecunious look about his unwelcome Bohemian acquaintance. In Kelvin's estimation, a man who could not afford to carry a gold watch was hardly worth knowing. He elevated his eyebrows, and felt sure in his own mind that before ten minutes were over he should be called upon to disburse five guineas. "That's the worst of making chance travelling acquaintances," he said to himself. "They are sure to turn up at some future date, and want you to do something for them. So many people want you to do something for them!" "Not quite made your fortune, then?" he said aloud. Gerald's only answer was an expressive shrug of the shoulders. "When I saw you last you talked about going to the Antipodes. What has brought you back again?" "Partly that lack of pence with which all really great men are afflicted, and partly a little private business which required my presence at home." "You are a born Bohemian, Pomeroy--one of those incorrigibles on whom argument and advice alike are thrown away." "Utterly thrown away--utterly; and I glory in the confession." "And what are your prospects for the future?"