“Spite of his crotchets I really like Raidsford,” remarked Mr. Croft. “What do you suppose he meant, uncle, when he spoke about the Company failing?” “He meant,” answered Mr. Stewart, “what I have often suspected myself,—that Black is too great a rogue to be honest, even if honesty be to his interest. Raidsford is a well-intentioned fellow, but he has not much information outside his business. Still, his ideas are worth consideration, and I shall consider them, and look up Mr. Crossenham,” added Mr. Stewart in a lower tone, as he went downstairs to the dining-room, where a substantial supper was already spread. CHAPTER V. THE PAPER WAR. The eight o’clock up express only stopped once between Palinsbridge and Holloway; but on the occasion of that one pause, Mr. Stewart procured a copy of the morning’s _Times_, where, occupying a prominent position, he found Lord Kemms’ letter. “It is a mercy Frank is a Lord,” remarked Mr. Croft, drily; “for I do not think he would ever have got through the world in a subordinate capacity. The longer I live, the more satisfied I feel Providence orders these things a vast deal better than we could do.” “You think, I suppose, Providence made him a Lord on the same principle as it makes so many poor men inventors. If an individual have not five pounds in the world, he has a patent—the compensating balance—is that what you mean, Douglas?” “Something of that kind,” answered his nephew. “I have often wondered how Frank would have pushed his way had he been turned adrift at ten years of age with half-a-crown in his pocket; one cannot marvel at men like Raidsford being a little elated at the contemplation of their own exploits, when one thinks of how few people there really are in the world with any brains at all. Now, unprincipled though he may be, can you help admiring Black? I confess, I have the very highest opinion possible of that honest individual’s talent.” “Much the same sort of talent as pickpockets and burglars are made of,” answered Mr. Stewart.