“Will you give me your word of honour that your debts do not exceed the sum you mention?” “Yes.” “Then fill your glass. I shall make arrangements that my bankers pay £500 into your account at Cox’s. This is a first offence, and if I know you it will be the last. Your allowance is about right. You can’t pay instalments out of it. Have you spoken to your dear mother of this debt?” “Not yet.” “Then—mum’s the word. I impose that condition. I can’t have my blessed woman worried. Well, well, you frightened me out of my wits. From your face I made cocksure of some cursed entanglement with a petticoat.” “Father, this is most awfully generous. I—I don’t know what to say. And, believe me, if I had guessed that things were a bit tight with you, I should have gone slower. When you told me about the shooting I had a fit.” “There, there, you’re a good boy, and perhaps I ought to have taken such a son into my confidence. The shooting was let for a specific purpose. I haven’t entertained decently since you left home. We must cut down our celebrations—what? And you must do without a clinking good horse which I know of. Why the devil doesn’t Ben bring the coffee?” “He knows I’m tackling you. I told him.” “Did you? What did the old dog say? He lifted his tongue, I’ll be bound.” “He offered to give me the monkey.” “What?” “It’s a great and glorious fact. He told me he was rich.” “Rich? Rich? The old pincher! I’ve often wondered what Ben did with his money. Saved every bob, I expect. Were you tempted to take that monkey?” “No.” “Good! Ben is a faithful and loyal soul.” “Isn’t he more than that, father?” “Hay? What d’ye mean, boy?” “It seems to me that he must have the most astounding affection for us. I’m quite rattled about it. Why hasn’t he gone on his own?” But, to this question, the Squire could offer no adequate answer. He mumbled out: “Dear old Ben, we rabbited together. We had rare larks as boys.” Evidently the Squire thought that this accounted for everything. Lionel thought otherwise. But he kept his reflections to himself. Alfred entered with the coffee. Fishpingle followed with the old brandy. The Squire motioned to his butler to remain in the room. It was cheery to hear his mellow tones, as he said superbly: “A glass of wine with us, old friend. Master Lionel has told me of your offer. It was worthy of you, Ben. My hand on it.” Master and man shook hands. Fishpingle drank his wine, was questioned and cross-questioned about his day on the river, and most graciously dismissed. Lionel thought: “This is the Old School, with a vengeance.” Once more, he wondered at the change in himself, which enabled him to see so plainly that others had not changed.