He kept his eyes on Mr. Beresford, and knit his eyebrows very much as he contemplated that gentleman's proceedings. Whether prompted by anxiety for the fate of his eight-hundred pounds loan or by some other occult reason, Mr. Simnel had been specially watchful over the Commissioner, and urged upon him to bring the speculation in which he had embarked to a prosperous close. With this view he had dissuaded Beresford from going to Scotland, whither, as usual, he was bound on his autumnal excursion; representing to him that he had of late been very lax in his attendance; that he had had much more leave of absence than any of his brother commissioners; that Sir Hickory Maddox had once or twice referred to the subject in any thing but a complimentary manner; and that the best thing he could do to stave off an impending row would be to volunteer to stop in town, and let the other members of the board have a chance of running away in the fine weather. At this suggestion Mr. Beresford looked very black and waxed very wroth, and couldn't see why the deuce, and on his oath couldn't tell the necessity, &c.; but relented somewhat when his friend pointed out to him that there was no necessity for his attending more than twice a week at the office, just to sign such papers as were pressing; and that instead of remaining in his South-Audley-Street lodgings, he could go out and take rooms at a beautiful little inn in the village of Whittington, where there was a glorious cook, a capital cellar, beautiful air, splendid prospect, and above all, which was twenty minutes' canter from the Uplands, Schröder's summer place. To this plan Mr. Beresford consented; and after asking for a further loan of fifty, and getting five-and-twenty, from Simnel, Beresford and his mare Gulnare were domesticated at the Holly Bush, and he prepared to make play. But somehow the state of affairs did not please Mr. Simnel. One day, when he and Mr. and Mrs. Schröder were Beresford's guests, he seemed specially annoyed; and on the next occasion of his friend's visiting the office, he took the opportunity of speaking to him. "I want to say a word to you, Master Charles," said he, entering the board-room and addressing Beresford, who was stretched on the sofa reading the _Post_, and envying the sportsmen whose bags were recorded therein. "I want to know how you're getting on." "Getting on! in what way?" asked Beresford, putting down the paper and lazily looking round; "as regards money, do you mean? because, if so, I could take that other five-and-twenty from you with a great amount of satisfaction." "You're very good," said Simnel, with a sardonic grin; "but I'd rather not. I'm afraid you've been trying some of Dr. Franklin's experiments with kites again recently; at all events, I've seen several letters addressed to you in Parkinson's--of Thavies Inn, I mean--handwriting; which looks any thing but healthy. However, I didn't mean that; I meant in the other business--the great venture."