“Get him down for fifty,--that ain't much,--fifty at three months. My Lord says he 'll stand fifty himself, in that letter I read. It was to help you to a match, to be sure; but that don't matter. There can be no question of marrying now. Let me see how this affair is going to turn. Well, I'll see if I can't do something myself. I've a precious lot of stamped paper there,”--and he pointed to an old secretary,--“if I could hit upon a sharp fellow to work it.” “You are a trump, Grog!” cried Beecher, delightedly. “If we had a clear two hundred, we could start to-morrow,” said Grog, laying down his cigar, and staring steadfastly at him. “Why, would _you_ come, too?” muttered Beecher, who had never so much as imagined the possibility of this companionship on the Continent. “I expect I would,” said Davis, with a very peculiar grin. “It ain't likely you'd manage an affair like this without advice.” “Very true,--very true,” said Beecher, hurriedly. “But remember, Lackington is my brother,--we 're both in the same boat.” “But not with the same skulls,” said Grog. And he grinned a savage grin at the success of his pun. Beecher, however, so far from appreciating the wit, only understood the remark as a sneer at his intelligence, and half sulkily said,-- “Oh! I'm quite accustomed to that, now,--I don't mind it.” “That's right,--keep your temper,” said Grog, calmly; “that's the best thing in _your_ book. You 're what they call good-tempered. And,” added he, in the moralizing tone, “though the world does take liberties with the good-tempered fellows, it shies them many a stray favor,--many a sly five-pun'-note into the bargain. I've known fellows go through life--and make a rare good thing of it, too--with no other stock-in-trade than this same good temper.” Beecher did not pay his habitual attention to Grog's words, but sat pondering over all the possible and impossible objections to a tour in such company. There were times and places where men might be seen talking to such a man as Davis. The betting-ring and the weighing-stand have their privileges, just like the green-room or the “flats,” but in neither case are the intimacies of such localities exactly of a kind for parade before the world. Of all the perils of such a course none knew better than Beecher. What society would think,--what clubs would say of it,--he could picture to his mind at once.