“Instead of having some one on the direction with an interest in the well-being of the concern,” finished Mr. Stewart, who had by this time changed his position, and stood with one arm resting on the chimney-piece, staring into the fire. “Look here, sir,” he went on, suddenly altering the tone in which he had hitherto spoken, “it is as much your interest as mine that this company shall succeed. It may make a rich man of you if it do—it will certainly ease me of a considerable sum of money if it do not. Our hopes, therefore, are, or should be, identical. Is it to be peace or war between us? Will you work with me, or will you work against me? Are you going to make posts and give salaries to all the men you ever knew since you started in business? Do you mean to show Squire This and Captain That where a good stroke of business is to be done—where a snug nest-egg is to be obtained? Are you going to advance the well-being of the company, or make it subservient to the well-being of Jack, Tom, and Harry? How is this to be, sir?—let us clearly understand one another at once.” “Is all this tirade merely because I advised Squire Dudley to purchase that house in Lincoln’s Inn Fields?” asked Mr. Black, sneeringly. “No, sir; all this tirade, as you are pleased to call it, originates not at the doings in Lincoln’s Inn, but at the various other doings in Dowgate Hill. Here, for example, who the deuce is this fellow Harcourt, solicitor? Nobody knows who he may be, except that he is some friend or relative of yours. Then, again, there is Bayley Crossenham, Esquire, manager; Robert Crossenham, Esquire, secretary _pro tem._ It shall not be _pro tem._ long, believe me. Then the bankers are your own; the auditors are the same whose names were appended to that most rotten scheme of yours, the City and Suburban Gas Company; the brokers are men of comparatively no standing whatever; not a soul on the direction but has been “qualified” by the gift of paid-up shares. I do not quarrel with that latter arrangement, for, with one exception, I think you have, so far as I can see, got a list of very good names—names that, perhaps, were worth paying for. By the way, I perceive Lord Kemms is on the Direction.” “Yes,” replied Mr. Black, wincing, however, a little at the implied question; “he is next neighbour almost to Squire Dudley.” “Indeed, what a delightful person this Squire Dudley must be! And so, because Lord Kemms chances to be near neighbour to Squire Dudley, he allows his name to grace our prospectus? I should not have thought it.” “Why should you not?” asked Mr. Black, sullenly. “Well, for one reason, because he has been at Vienna for the last four months.” “I saw him, at any rate, in Squire Dudley’s house, when I was down in Hertfordshire last summer,” answered Mr. Black. “And he gave you permission to use his name?” “Certainly. Do you think I should put it on the direction if he had not?” asked Mr. Black.