At half-past ten, Fishpingle and he took the path leading to the river. Fishpingle, in a very sporting coat and knickerbockers (which had been discarded by the Squire), might have been mistaken at a short distance for that potentate. He was doubtful about the prospects. The sun had risen high above the clouds and the breeze was dying down. To his astonishment, Lionel displayed indifference, saying incisively: “I want to have a long yarn with you, old chap. If the trout aren’t on the rise, so much the better.” Fishpingle stared at him keenly. “That doesn’t sound like you, Master Lionel.” “I’m not myself this morning. I’ve a big load that I must get off my chest. We’ll sit under a willow while I do it.” The trout were not feeding, as Fishpingle had predicted. There might be a nice “rise” later on. Lionel glanced up and down the stream. Joyce was not on the “rise” either. A clump of willows was found, and the men sat down, Lionel wasted no time. “I’ve had a shock, Fishpingle. I never knew till this morning that there was a crippling mortgage on this property. I never knew that father was pinched and pinching. What did he get for the shooting, eh?” Fishpingle, who knew the exact amount, answered cautiously: “Several hundred pounds.” “Now, sit tight! I’m going to give you a shock, I owe several hundred pounds, and I must tell father at the first decent opportunity.” “Oh, dear!” exclaimed Fishpingle. “Several hundred pounds!” “No excuses to you, you dear old man! I raced a bit out there and backed losers. I played polo. And bridge. I spent last year’s leave in Kashmir. Between ourselves, I had no idea I was so dipped. The bets had to be settled on the nail; so I went to the natives. Before I started for home they dunned me. I had to tell my colonel. Before I go back these debts must be settled in full. Believing my father to be a comparatively rich man, I assured my chief that they would be. I’ve had a thumping good allowance and I feel this morning about as sick as they make ’em. Now—you’ve got it.” “Several hundred pounds,” repeated Fishpingle. “Call it five—a monkey.” “Oh, dear—oh, dear!” “Don’t look so miserable! I can get the monkey from Cox’s, my agents, but they insist upon a guarantee from my father. Of course I could go to the Jews!” “No, no, Master Lionel. But this will upset the Squire terribly.” “Don’t rub that in!”