But the public's not all to blame.. It's the managers, who allow themselves to be led, like tame sheep, into the trap; they haven't the moral courage to stand up against it. And what's a man, or a manager, without moral courage? I wouldn't mind it so much, but what's the consequence? A star is engaged upon shares, at an enormous screw, and to make this up, all _our_ screws are reduced. That's where it comes hard. I pledge you my dramatic word, my screw isn't so much by seven-and-sixpence a week as it was six months ago. Who gets my seven-and-six? Why, who but the star? And my poor children must starve and perish, or go on the parish, if they hadn't a self-denying parent, who would pawn his shirt before they should come to want. I'll take another glass of whisky-toddy--my last, sir, my last to-night. Old Mac knows when he's had enough. Turk, my son, a word in your ear.' Turk went aside with him, and I heard the jingling of coin. 'He's a rum old fellow,' said Turk to me, as we walked home; 'a good actor too, and might have got on well if he hadn't been so much engaged all his life in drowning care.' 'You gave him some money?' I said. 'Lent it to him, Chris; only fourpence halfpenny. The old fellow never borrows even money; it's always an exact sum for an exact purpose that he wants--fourteenpence, or eightpence halfpenny, or sevenpence, or some other odd amount. He was never known to borrow a shilling or a half-crown. There's a good deal of truth in what he says, Chris.' 'I am sorry for his wife and children,' I said. 'The best of it is,' replied Turk, laughing, 'that the old fellow has only two sons, and the youngest is thirty-four years of age, and in a very good way. But it pleases old Mac to talk like that, and he has talked like it so long, that I've no doubt he really believes that he _has_ a destitute family somewhere, who would starve if he couldn't borrow his fourpence-halfpennies and his sevenpences now and then. It's one of the best things I know.' Altogether this night's entertainment was a most enjoyable one to me, and gave me much food for reflection. CHAPTER XXV. HOLDING THE WORD OF PROMISE TO THE EAR. So far as I could judge from outward appearances, the coldness between uncle Bryan and Jessie increased with time, rather than lessened. Their natures seemed to be in direct antagonism, and every effort to make things pleasant between them completely failed. My mother often made such efforts in her quiet loving way; Jessie herself wooed him, after her fashion, when the humour was on her; but he was implacable, except on one occasion to which I shall presently refer. 'He ought,' said Jessie to me, 'to be at the head of a monastery of monks; he thinks it is a crime even to laugh. What sort of a young man was he, I wonder?'