Mr. Smith managed to say, “Good afternoon,” and stood watching the receding figure as though it belonged to a species hitherto unknown to him. Then he turned, in obedience to a passionate tug at his coat sleeve from Mr. Kybird. “Wot ’ave you got to say for yourself?” demanded that injured person, in tones of suppressed passion. “Wot do you mean by it? You’ve made a pretty mess of it with your cleverness.” “Wonderful old gentleman, ain’t he?” said the discomfited Mr. Smith. “Fancy ’im getting the better o’ _me_. Fancy _me_ being ’ad. I took it all in as innercent as you please.” “Ah, you’re a clever fellow, you are,” said Mr. Kybird, bitterly. “’Ere’s Amelia lost young Nugent and ’is five ’undred all through you. It’s a got-up thing between old Swann and the Nugent lot, that’s wot it is.” “Looks like it,” admitted Mr. Smith; “but fancy ’is picking _me_ out for ’is games. That’s wot gets over me.” “Wot about all that money I paid for the license?” demanded Mr. Kybird, in a threatening manner. “Wot are you going to do about it?” “You shall ’ave it,” said the boarding-master, with sudden blandness, “and ’Melia shall ’ave ’er five ’undred.” “’Ow?” inquired the other, staring. “It’s as easy as easy,” said Mr. Smith, who had been greatly galled by his friend’s manner. “I’ll leave it in my will. That’s the cheapest way o’ giving money I know of. And while I’m about it I’ll leave you a decent pair o’ trousers and a shirt with your own name on it.” While an ancient friendship was thus being dissolved, Mr. Adolphus Swann was on the way to his office. He could never remember such a pleasant air from the water and such a vivid enjoyment in the sight of the workaday world. He gazed with delight at the crowd of miscellaneous shipping in the harbour and the bustling figures on the quay, only pausing occasionally to answer anxious inquiries concerning his health from seafaring men in tarry trousers, who had waylaid him with great pains from a distance. He reached his office at last, and, having acknowledged the respectful greetings of Mr. Silk, passed into the private room, and celebrated his return to work by at once arranging with his partner for a substantial rise in the wages of that useful individual. “My conscience is troubling me,” he declared, as he hung up his hat and gazed round the room with much relish. “Silk is happy enough,” said Hardy. “It is the best thing that could have happened to him.” “I should like to raise everybody’s wages,” said the benevolent Mr. Swann, as he seated himself at his desk. “Everything is like a holiday to me after being cooped up in that bedroom; but the rest has done me a lot of good, so Blaikie says. And now what is going to happen to you?” [Illustration: “Pausing occasionally to answer anxious inquiries.”] Hardy shook his head.