Mr. Higgs paid no heed. He sat marvelling over the fatuousness of Brother Clark and trying to think of ways and means out of the dilemma into which that gentleman's perverted enthusiasm had placed him. He wondered whether it would be possible to induce Brother Burge to sleep elsewhere by offering to bear his hotel expenses, and at last, after some hesitation, broached the subject. “What!” exclaimed the other, pushing his plate from him and regarding him with great severity. “Go and sleep at a hotel? After Brother Clark has been and took all this trouble? Why, I wouldn't think of doing such a thing.” “Brother Clark has no right to expose you to such a trial,” said Mr. Higgs with great warmth. “I wonder what he'd say if he 'eard you,” remarked Mr. Burge sternly. “After his going and making all these arrangements, for you to try and go and upset 'em. To ask _me_ to shun the fight like a coward; to ask me to go and hide in the rear-ranks in a hotel with everything locked up, or a coffee pallis with nothing to steal.” “I should sleep far more comfortably if I knew that you were not undergoing this tremendous strain,” said the unhappy Mr. Higgs, “and besides that, if you did give way, it would be a serious business for me—that's what I want you to look at. I am afraid that if—if unhappily you did fall, I couldn't prevent you.” “I'm sure you couldn't,” said the other cordially. “That's the beauty of it; that's when the Evil One's whispers get louder and louder. Why, I could choke you between my finger and thumb. If unfortunately my fallen nature should be too strong for me, don't interfere whatever you do. I mightn't be myself.” Mr. Higgs rose and faced him gasping. “Not even—call for—the police—I suppose,” he jerked out. “That would be interfering,” said Brother Burge coldly. The jeweller tried to think. It was past eleven. The housekeeper had gone to spend the night with an ailing sister, and a furtive glance at Brother Burge's small shifty eyes and fat unwholesome face was sufficient to deter him from leaving him alone with his property, while he went to ask the police to give an eye to his house for the night. Besides, it was more than probable that Mr. Burge would decline to allow such a proceeding. With a growing sense of his peril he resolved to try flattery. “It was a great thing for the Brethren to secure a man like you,” he said. “I never thought they'd ha' done it,” said Mr. Burge frankly. “I've 'ad all sorts trying to convert me; crying over me and praying over me. I remember the first dear good man that called me a lorst lamb. He didn't say anything else for a month.” “So upset,” hazarded the jeweller. “I broke his jor, pore feller,” said Brother Burge, a sad but withal indulgent smile lighting up his face at the vagaries of his former career. “What time do you go to bed, Brother?” “Any time,” said the other reluctantly. “I suppose you are tired with your journey?”