“Nothing; it don't concern him at all. It's not about anything you ever heard of before,” said Davis, as he threw a log of wood on the fire, and kicked it with his foot. “I 'll have to go to Brussels to-night. I 'll have to leave this by the four o'clock train,” said he, looking at his watch. “The horse is n't fit to move for twenty-four hours, so you 'll remain here; he must n't be left without one of us, you know.” “Of course not. But is there anything so very urgent--” “I suppose a man is best judge of his own affairs,” said Davis, rudely. Beecher made no reply, and a long and awkward silence ensued. “Let him have one of the powders in a linseed mash,” said Davis, at last, “and see that the bandages are left on--only a little loose--at night. Tom must remain with him in the box on the train, and I 'll look out for you at the station. If we shouldn't meet, come straight to the Hôtel Tirlemont, where all will be ready for you.” “Remember, Grog, I've got no money; you haven't trusted me with a single napoleon.” “I know that; here's a hundred francs. Look out sharp, for you 'll have to account for every centime of it when we meet. Dine upstairs here, for if you go down to the ordinary you 'll be talking to every man Jack you meet,--ay, you know you will.” “Egad! it's rather late in the day to school me on the score of manners.” “I 'm not a-talking of manners, I 'm speaking of discretion,--of common prudence,--things you 're not much troubled with; you 're just as fit to go alone in life as I am to play the organ at an oratorio.” “Many thanks for the flattery,” said Beecher, laughing. “What would be the good of flattering you?” broke out Grog. “You ain't rich, that one could borrow from you; you haven't a great house, where one could get dinners out of you; you 're not even the head of your family, that one might draw something out of your rank,--you ain't anything.” “Except _your_ friend, Grog Davis; pray don't rob me of that distinction,” said Beecher, with a polished courtesy the other felt more cutting than any common sarcasm. “It's the best leaf in your book, whatever you may think of it,” said Davis, sternly; “and it will be a gloomy morning for you whenever you cease to be it.” “I don't intend it, old fellow; I 'll never tear up the deed of partnership, you may rely upon that. The old-established firm of Beecher and Davis, or Davis and Beecher--for I don't care which--shall last _my_ time, at least;” and he held out his hand with a cordiality that even Grog felt irresistible, for he grasped and shook it heartily. “If I could only get you to run straight, I 'd make a man of you,” said Grog, eying him fixedly. “There's not a fellow in England could do as much for you as I could. There's nobody knows what's in you as I do, and there's nobody knows where you break down like _me_.” “True, O Grog, every word of it.”