"Not much, I hope; thank you for inquiring; but how come you to know about the fire, and to be interested in my sister?" "'Cause I was there, sir; an' it was _my brother_, sir, Frank Willders, as saved your sister." "Was it, indeed!" exclaimed Fred, becoming suddenly interested. "Come, let me hear more about your brother." Willie, nothing loth, related every fact he was acquainted with in regard to Frank's career, and his own family history, in the course of which he revealed the object of his visit to Mr Tippet. When he had finished, Frederick Auberly shook hands with him and said: "Now, Willie, go and deliver your note. If the application is successful, well; but if it fails, or you don't like your work, just call upon me, and I'll see what can be done for you." "Yes, sir, and thankee," said Willie; "where did you say I was to call, sir?" "Call at--eh--ah--yes, my boy, call _here_, and let my friend Mr Barret know you want to see me. He will let me know, and you shall hear from me. Just at present--well, never mind, go and deliver your note now. Your brother is a noble fellow. Good-night. And you're a fine little fellow yourself," he added, after Willie closed the door. The fine little fellow gave vent to such a gush of "Rule Britannia" at the moment, that the two friends turned with a smile to each other. Just then a man's voice was heard at the foot of the stair, grumbling angrily. At the same moment young Auberly rose to leave. "Good-night, Barret. I'll write to you soon as to my whereabout and what about. Perhaps see you ere long." "Good-night. God prosper you, Fred. Good-night." As he spoke, the grumbler came stumbling along the passage. "Good-night again, Fred," said Barret, almost pushing his friend out. "I have a particular reason for not wishing you to see the fr-, the man who is coming in." "All right, old fellow," said Fred as he passed out, and drew up against the wall to allow a drunken man to stumble heavily into the room. Next moment he was in the street hastening he knew not whither; but following the old and well-known route to Beverly Square. CHAPTER ELEVEN. WONDERFUL PLANS. When Willie Willders knocked at Tom Tippet's door, at the top of the house, a rich jovial bass voice cried, "Come in." So Willie went in, and stood before a stout old gentleman, whose voluminous whiskers, meeting below his chin, made ample amends for the total absence of hair from the top of his head. Mr Tippet stood, without coat or vest, and with his braces tied round his waist, at a carpenter's bench, holding a saw in his right hand, and a piece of wood in his left. "Well, my lad, what's _your_ business?" he inquired in the voice of a stentor, and with the beaming smile of an elderly cherub. "Please, sir, a note--from a lady."