"And--have ye, sir?" "Yes." And Eustace, taking out his pouch, proceeded with the utmost coolness to refill and light his pipe. "And, if I might make so bold, sir, what does he say?" asked the man anxiously. "Well, to be candid with you, Johnston, I think you'll get no change out of him at all. He won't even listen to your idea." "Begging your pardon, sir," said the stranger, in response to an appealing look from his companion--"begging your pardon, sir, but wouldn't it be much better that Mr Dorrien should come to some understanding with my friend, here, instead of compelling him to go to law? Now, wouldn't it?" "Begging yours--but I haven't the pleasure of your acquaintance," replied Eustace, eyeing the speaker with perfect coolness. "Is this your legal adviser, Johnston?" "Eh, no, sir. It's just my cousin, who knows the law as well as most lawyers, and--" "Well, it can't possibly be his business, and I shall decline to discuss it with him," decisively went on Eustace, who had a dim recollection of having seen the seedy, ferret-nosed individual before him in the office of a Battisford attorney, where he occupied a position, half clerk, half errand-runner. "And for the matter of that, Johnston, it's none of mine either, and I may as well tell you so. So I'm afraid I can't help you any further." "And ye won't give me his address?" "Whose?" "Meester Dorrien's." "No." "But perhaps we can mak' ye," answered Johnston, whose tone was gradually becoming less respectful and more threatening. Eustace turned slightly in his chair--his tall, fine frame the picture of listless ease, and cool self-possession in every feature of his handsome face. "Eh? I didn't quite catch?" he said suavely, merely lifting an eye-brow. The Cranston gardener, who had obtained his position of awe among the little community of his colleagues and dependents by mere bluster and bullying, was an arrant coward at heart, and simply dared not repeat his remarks. "But, my dear sir," began the other insinuatingly, cutting him short in the middle of a whining speech about poor men being denied their rights--"my dear sir, don't you see--" "I'm afraid not," was the imperturbable reply. "At least I see this-- that no good will come of discussing the concern any further. But--eh-- by the way, Johnston, you didn't poke at the dog at all--with a stick, for instance, did you?" The man's face changed colour, and Eustace, who was watching him narrowly, detected it at once. It was only a random shot, but it had evidently hit the mark. "Ah! well," he went on carelessly, "in any case it doesn't much matter. And now, I suppose, we have nothing further to discuss. So I'll say good-day--" Both men stood irresolute for a moment. Then they turned to go. "Aweel, sir, it's a queer warrld," said Johnston, "and, of course, we must just help each other. An' if ever I get a chance o' doing you a good turn I hope I'll do it."