“Come, come, Rowton,” said Scrivener, giving his tall host another lightning glance, “there is no good in your getting into a temper. You are all very well, and of course a great help to us, and your manners and your ways are no end of a blind, and we are awfully obliged to you, but all the same, business is business, and you have no call to neglect any of our interests.” “I do not do so,” said Rowton. He stood up as he spoke. “By Heaven!” he exclaimed, “I give up my life to your cursed interests. I have wrecked my soul for them. You have no right to twit me with want of zeal. Where would any of you be without me?” “I know that, Silver, I know it,” said the man in a servile tone. He walked again to the window and looked out. “All the same,” he added after a pause, “the boxes are not ready and they must be moved to-night.” “You have the afternoon to get them ready in,” said Rowton. “Well, let us have something to eat and set to work,” answered Scrivener. Rowton crossed the room and rang the bell. Samson appeared after a moment. “Get something to eat for yourself and this man in the kitchen,” he said. “In the kitchen!” said Scrivener; “do you think I will eat in the kitchen with your serving man!” “You won’t eat with me,” replied Rowton. “I am sick of the whole concern and have a good mind to cut it.” “Ah! you dare not do that,” said Scrivener; “you are too deep in by now. What about the Kimberley diamonds and the silver ingots, and the——?” Rowton’s tone changed. He stood up, and a look of perplexity flitted across his handsome face. “It is true, Scrivener,” he said, “it is too late to withdraw now, and I did wrong to lose my temper over one like you.” There was an indescribable scorn in his words. “Yes,” he continued, “I am in too deep; there is nothing for it but to stay in.” “And the life is a jolly one, my fighting cock,” said Scrivener. “Yes, jolly enough.” Rowton began to hum the first bar of the well-known song, “Begone, dull care;” and his rich baritone filled the room. “Yes! faith,” he continued, “the life suits me well enough; I am a jolly rover, and I like excitement and dare-devil escapes, and all the rest of the thing. I am sorry I showed temper to you, Scrivener, but the fact is, I did not want you just now on the scene. I am particularly busy at the present moment on my own account.” “But your time is ours,” said Scrivener. “What would Long John say, or Spider, if I told them you were giving your most precious moments to private concerns?”