He finished the glass. “And if ’e don’t give me something out of it I’ll do ’im as much ’arm as I can,” he continued; and, buttoning up his coat, he rose and set out in the direction of the High Street. The rain had ceased and the sun was making faint efforts to break through watery clouds. Things seemed brighter, and Mr. Smith’s heart beat in response. He was going to play the part of a benefactor to Mr. Kybird; to offer him access, at any rate, to such wealth as he had never dreamed of. He paused at the shop window, and, observing through a gap in the merchandise that Mr. Kybird was behind the counter, walked in and saluted him. “I’ve got news for you,” he said, slowly; “big news.” “Oh,” said Mr. Kybird, with indifference. “Big news,” repeated Mr. Smith, sinking thoughtlessly into the broken cane-chair and slowly extricating himself. “Something that’ll make your eyes start out of your ’ed.” The small black eyes in question were turned shrewdly in his direction. “I’ve ’ad news of you afore, Nat,” remarked Mr. Kybird, with simple severity. The philanthropist was chilled; he fixed his eyes in a stony stare on the opposite wall. Mr. Kybird, who had ever a wholesome dread of falling a victim to his friend’s cuteness, regarded him with some uncertainty, and reminded him of one or two pieces of information which had seriously depleted his till. “Banns up yet for the wedding?” inquired Mr. Smith, still gazing in front of him with fathomless eyes. “They’ll be put up next week,” said Mr. Kybird. “Ah!” said his friend, with great emphasis. “Well, well!” “Wot d’ye mean by ‘well, well’?” demanded the other, with some heat. “I was on’y thinking,” replied Mr. Smith, mildly. “P’r’aps it’s all for the best, and I’d better ’old my tongue. True love is better than money. After all it ain’t my bisness, and I shouldn’t get much out of it.” “Out of wot, Nat?” inquired Mr. Kybird, uneasily. Mr. Smith, still gazing musingly before him, appeared not to hear the question. “Nice after the rain, ain’t it?” he said, slowly. “It’s all right,” said the other, shortly. “Everything smells so fresh and sweet,” continued his nature-loving friend; “all the little dickey-birds was a-singing as if their little ’arts would break as I come along.” “I don’t wonder at it,” said the offended Mr. Kybird. “And the banns go up next week,” murmured the boarding-master to himself. “Well, well.” “’Ave you got anything to say agin it?” demanded Mr. Kybird. “Cert’nly not,” replied the other. “On’y don’t blame me when it’s too late; that’s all.” Mr. Kybird, staring at him wrathfully, turned this dark saying over in his mind. “Too late for wot?” he inquired. “Ah!” said Nathan Smith, slowly. “Nice and fresh after the rain, ain’t it? As I come along all the little dickey-birds—” [Illustration: “If you’ve got anything to say, why don’t you say it like a man?”]