"Well, I thought no other gentleman was with you," remarked Henry, whose ideas of why one should throw books about were obviously limited. "A Mr. Halliday is here, sir, and wants to know if you'll see him." "Of course I will. Show him in directly." As Henry went out, Arthur ejaculated the word "Good!" Anybody would have been welcome--even Luther's Antagonist himself, perhaps--to Arthur in that black mood of his. Joe Halliday was a godsend. He carried cheerfulness with him--not of the order commended by moralists and bred by patience out of trouble, but rather a spontaneous hilarity of mind, thanks to which he derided the chances of life, and paddled his canoe with a laugh through the rapids of fortune. Joe had no settled means and he scorned any settled occupation. He preferred to juggle with half a dozen projects, keeping all of them in the air at once. He had something to sell and something to buy, something to find or something to get rid of; something had just been invented, or was just going to be; somebody needed money or somebody had it to invest. And all the Somebodies and Somethings were supposed to pay a toll to Joe for interesting himself in the matter. Generally they did; when they failed to, he paddled gaily on to another venture--Cantabat vacuus. But on the whole he was successful. The profits, the commissions, the "turns" came rolling in--and were rolled out again with a festive and joyous prodigality that took no thought for a morrow which, under the guidance of an acute and sanguine intelligence, should not have the smallest difficulty in providing for itself. He bustled in and threw his hat on Arthur's table. "Morning, old chap. Sorry to interrupt! I expect you're awfully busy? Yes, I see! I see! Look at the briefs! Mr. Arthur Lisle--with you the Right Hon. Sir Richard Finlayson, K.C., M.P.--300 guineas! Whew! Mr. Arthur Lisle--With you----" He fingered the imaginary briefs, rolling his eyes at Arthur, and scratching his big hooked nose with the other hand. "Go to the devil, Joe," said Arthur, smiling, suddenly able to smile, at the Demon of Stagnation as represented by his empty table. "Have a cigarette?" "The subject of my call demands a pipe," and he proceeded to light one. "Have you got any money, Arthur?" "I think you're roughly acquainted with the extent of my princely income." "Income isn't money. Capital is. Turn your income into capital, and you've got money!" "It sounds delightfully simple, and must work well--for a time, Joe." "I've got a real good thing. No difficulty, no risk--well, none to speak of. I thought you might like to consider it. I'm letting my friends have the first chance." "What is it? Gold, rubber, or a new fastener for umbrellas?" Arthur was not a stranger to Joe's variegated ventures. "It's a deal safer than any of those. Did you ever see _Help Me Out Quickly_?" "Yes. I saw it at Worcester once. Quite funny!"