“There was nothing impossible about the matter,” said Mr. Raidsford, quietly. “I’ll be bound, if any man liked to go in single-handed for a project of the kind to-morrow, he could compass it—ay, and make money out of it too; but what a man may do, a company cannot do, and accordingly the soup never came from South America, and the bullocks Mr. Black represented in his reports as slain and in the English market may, for aught I know, be still roaming over the prairies.” “And after that company collapsed?” inquired his lordship. “Why, since that, Mr. Black has been sometimes up and sometimes down—sometimes living in retirement with his banking account drawn down to two and three half-pence; and again, giving grand dinners and living utterly regardless of expense. He is in the latter state at present—has a house in Stanley Crescent, servants in livery; dinners from Gunter’s; Mrs. Black “receives” on Tuesdays; Mr. Black asks great people to dinner any day in the week that suits his purpose. He has three separate banking accounts—he is promoting four different companies; he has offices in Cannon Street, Broad Street, and George Street, Westminster. He has an efficient staff of clerks—he has got, it is said, a couple of first-rate backers; he has all his past experience to guide him safely through the quagmires of limited liability; and, in short, if Mr. Black do not now make his fortune, he never will. My own opinion is, he never will; but that, of necessity, is merely an opinion.” “And suppose Squire Dudley embark with him?” asked Lord Kemms. “Squire Dudley will never come back to land,” was the significant reply; after which the pair rode on in silence. At Mr. Raidsford’s gates they parted company. “I shall see you again this evening, you know,” said my lord, waving his hand as he struck his horse’s flank and galloped off. Mr. Raidsford looked after the retreating figure of his companion for a minute before entering his own gates, then he passed into his domain and rode slowly up the avenue, thinking as he rode. “I wonder how he will decide?” was the burden of his mental discourse; “but I shall learn this evening.” Now the reason he said so was, that Lord Kemms had promised to come over and dine with him _tête-à-tête_—the ladies of Mr. Raidsford’s family being absent. CHAPTER X. MR. BLACK GAINS HIS POINT. Without in the least intending to do so, Lord Kemms had put a trump card into Mr. Black’s hand—_the_ trump card, in fact, which enabled him to win his little game; and the way this undesirable result came about was as follows: