"Who the devil is Timothy Bunting?" he roared. Bob told him. "It’s a lie—a lie!" "Of course it must be, if you’ve married her, as you say," said Bob. "But perhaps I’m disturbing you. Would you like to go to sleep?" "Very much indeed," replied Gordon. "I should like to go to sleep and stay asleep. I wish you’d go and serve Goby and De Vere as you’ve served me!" "I’m so sorry," said Bob, "but you always said you wanted any news, and that’s why I told you first." Gordon held out his hand, and Bob shook it warmly. "By the way," he asked, "what about the hair restorer?" "What hair restorer?" asked the astonished Hebrew. "The one you put ninety pounds of mine in, sir." "It wasn’t in a hair restorer. What makes you say so?" "Well," replied Bob, "I thought it was. You said it would make my hair curl. How much did it make, whatever it was?" A glow of pleasure spread over Gordon’s sad countenance. Making money was something even in despair. "My boy, I bought you Amalekites at half a crown, five hundred and sixty of ’em, and now they’re at £4." "Dear me," said Bob, "how much does that make? Why, it’s £2,240." "Less commission," agreed the financier. "By Jove, that’s a very, very good beginning," said Bob. "Do you think they will go up more, Mr. Gordon?" Gordon looked at him and sighed. "They might. But don’t you think it would be safer to get out now, Bob?" Bob shook his head. "I’ll follow your advice, sir, of course. If it was only myself, I’d take the money, but I’m thinking of Goring, when my father and grandfather and uncle die. What I want is fifty thousand, at least. Grandfather often says that is the least that can put the house on its legs again. Let me see, £2,240 is eight times four times £90. That’s thirty-two times £90. What’s thirty-two times £2,240?" "Seventy-one thousand six hundred and eighty," replied Gordon, promptly. "That would do very well indeed," said Bob. "Please go on, sir, till it’s that. Or shall I take half and ask Mr. Plant to do something with it? He offered to help me." "Certainly not," replied Gordon, angrily. "Plant’s a reckless speculator and a liar, and he’ll wake up some day worth half a million less than nothing. I’ll do my best for you and Goring, Bob." "I’m sure you will, sir," said Bob. "Good night, Mr. Gordon. I’m sorry if I’ve worried you." And he went off to worry Goby. Gordon walked up and down the room weeping. "If I only had a boy like that!" he cried. "By Moses and all the prophets, I’ll put Amalekites up sky-high, and squeeze the bears till they howl. Oh, Pen, Pen!" *CHAPTER XVIII.*