"We're all broke occasionally," he observed, soothingly; "even I do not absolutely wallow in gold at the present minute. Still, I've a little place up here in the High Town where I can put up a friend in difficulties until things blow over." "Oh, I'm not wanted by the police, if that's what you mean!" the other interrupted, scornfully. "My early indiscretions have been whitewashed by a visit to Australia, which means that, having got into bad company in England, I was sent across the sea to get into worse company in Australia." "Have you been back long?" Garth inquired, accommodating with difficulty his footsteps to the long strides of his companion. "Long enough to spend in Paris the money which was to take me back to England! Look!" And he turned his empty pockets inside out for Garth's edification. The elder man looked thoughtful, and walked on by his side for some seconds in silence. "But your uncle?" he suggested at last. "Surely Alexander Wallace's credit should help his nephew in raising the 'needful'?" "A lot of use when for four years the old skinflint has gone about denouncing me as a ne'er-do-weel, and proclaiming the fact that I shall never get another ha'penny from him. I've written to him from here--it was the only thing to be done; but it won't be any good. The picture I drew in my letter of my sick and starving young wife was enough to melt the heart of a stone! But it won't move Uncle Alec." "Your wife?" Garth repeated, in surprise. "Yes. The young, lovely, and pious orphan daughter of a clergyman, who fell in love with me on board ship and decided to take in hand my reformation. There never was such a perfect woman--if, indeed, she's alive still; but as, when I wrote, she'd had nothing to eat for three days--and I can swear she's had nothing since--she may very likely be dead by this time!" Captain Garth was neither a good nor a scrupulous man, but he had the remnants of a heart about him, and his companion's words shocked and startled him. "Are you mad or drunk, Armstrong?" he cried. "Do you really mean to tell me your wife is here in Boulogne starving?" Armstrong turned and looked at him. Then he thrust his hands into his empty pockets and burst out laughing. "Why, you old idiot," he exclaimed, "she's only my wife on paper! What in the world should I want to burden myself with a wife for? Uncle Alec has always been soft-hearted about women, probably because he's had very little to do with them and doesn't know what fools and plagues they are; so the idea came into my head to pitch this starving-wife story, and see whether that would move him. But I don't hope much from it." "It would be rather awkward, though, if he took you at your word and asked you to produce her!"