“I am sorry things are so bad with you, old man. You must come and dine and talk them over.” Mr. Wimple looked him earnestly in the face. “I don’t like to come,” he said in a half-ashamed, half-pathetic voice; “I behaved so badly to you about that thirty pounds; but luck was against me.” “Never mind, you shall make it all right when luck is with you,” Walter answered cheerfully, determined to forget all unpleasant bygones. “Why not come to-night? we shall be alone.” Mr. Wimple shook his head. “No, not to-night,” he said; “I am not well, and I am going down to the country till Wednesday; it will do me good.” A little smile hovered round his mouth as he added, “some nice people in Hampshire have asked me to stay with them.” “In Hampshire. Whereabouts in Hampshire?” There was a certain hesitation in Mr. Wimple’s manner as he answered, “You don’t know them, and I don’t suppose you ever heard of the place, Walter; it is called Liphook.” “Liphook? Why, of course I know it. It is on the Portsmouth line; we have a cottage, left us by my wife’s aunt only last year, in the same direction, only rather nearer town. How long are you going to stay there?” “Till Wednesday. I will come and dine with you on Thursday, if you will have me.” “All right, old man, 7.30. Perhaps you had better tell me where to write in case I have to put you off for business reasons.” Mr. Wimple hesitated a minute, and then gave his London address, adding that he should be back on Wednesday night or Thursday morning at latest. They were standing by the newspaper office. “Do you think there might be anything I could do here?” he asked, nodding at the poster outside the door; “I might review legal books or something of that sort.” “I expect Fisher has a dozen men ready for anything at a moment’s notice,” Walter answered, “but I’ll put in a word for you if I get the chance;” and with a certain feeling of relief he shook his friend’s hand and rushed upstairs. The atmosphere seemed a little clearer when he was alone. “I’ll do what I can for him,” he thought, “but I can’t stand much of his company. There is a want of fresh air about him that bothers me so. Perhaps he could do a legal book occasionally, he used to write rather well. I’ll try what can be done.” But his talk with Mr. Fisher was so important to himself and so interesting in many ways that he forgot all about Alfred until he was going out of the door; and then it was too late to speak about him. Suddenly a happy thought struck him—Mr. Fisher was to dine with him next week, he would ask Wimple also for Thursday. Then, if they got on, the rest would arrange itself. He remembered too that Alfred always dressed carefully and looked his best in the evening and laid himself out to be agreeable.