‘Quite right, quite right!’ said Sir Thomas, with the fatuity of an elderly gentleman, in whom a solid meal, judiciously mingled with sound wine, has developed the sense of benevolence to an abnormal degree. ‘That’s only just and honourable. But listen to me. Your father was a friend of mine; therefore, I may be allowed to say a word to you. Don’t be incautious, my young friend.’ Byrom Winthrop’s eyes were fixed in an agony of apprehension upon his father, as he marked the rubicund visage beaming with too much amiability, and saw the finger raised; the eye, earnest, but unobservant, fixed upon Otho; and heard these words—for the conversation around had almost ceased—‘Don’t let Gilbert Langstroth, or any one else, let you in for something you don’t know the end of. Take my word for it, Bradstane is not the site for a manufacturing town; and gentlemen had better keep clear of factories. The best thing to do with those mills would be to pull them down, and build cottages where they stand; and if you sink any money in the concern, stick to that, stick to that!’ He leaned back in his chair with a smile, a fatuous smile, upon his visage. It was perfectly evident to the meanest observer, that Sir Thomas Winthrop had become—cheerful, and that he had just said a very uncomfortable kind of thing; not that there might not be plenty of truth in the thing, but to have said it aloud was truly unfortunate. Gilbert Langstroth had started up, his face pale, and was leaning forward, with compressed lips, apparently about to speak. Byrom Winthrop said in his ear— ‘Don’t make a row, Gilbert. You know the word “manufactures” always sets him off. It means nothing.’ Then a thing happened which no one was prepared for. Otho Askam, looking round, observed— ‘I see a lot of you have heard what Sir Thomas has been saying. All I can say is, I did not bring on the discussion; but now that it is on, I’d have every man here know that Gilbert Langstroth is my friend; and whoever says a word against him, says it against me. The business that Sir Thomas speaks of, has been mentioned between us. I wanted to help him with it, and he wouldn’t let me—if you call that ‘letting me in for something that I can’t see the end of.’ He said it was a risky thing for my money. I say, d—n the risk! He’s welcome to half of all that I’ve got, and if he does not choose to take it, why, I say he does not know what friendship is. Shake hands, Gilbert.’ Gilbert had been listening, white and breathless. Sir Thomas, in feeble despair, was protesting, in the futile way common to people who have stirred up a riot without having the least idea how to quell it, that really, it was most unfortunate. He never meant—he had no idea; and so forth. Gilbert suddenly turned upon him, with his blue-gray eyes flashing from his pale face.