"I only had a dollar on, sir--it was the last I had in the world. I'll take eleven dollars if you'll settle with me now, sir. The landlady'll be down on me for my rent to-night, and I haven't a copper to buy a loaf with." Mr. Sheldrake pays Muzzy two pounds fifteen shillings, retaining the odd crown for interest, and the old man slouches out of the room and into the streets, and when he is near a favourite public-house, gives the lie direct to his earnest words. No one who knew him had ever seen him take a glass of liquor at a public-house bar. His enjoyment was indulged in secretly. He would linger about the public-house where he bought his liquor until a small bar marked "private" was empty; and then he would slink in, and, without a word, take a bottle and place it upon the counter, casting apprehensive looks at the door lest any one should come in and detect him. The barman, knowing his wants, would fill the bottle. If Muzzy was rich, he would produce a second bottle from another pocket, this the barman would also fill. Quickly placing the bottles in his pocket, Muzzy would lay upon the counter the exact price of the liquor (having provided himself beforehand with the necessary change), and glide swiftly away. Hugging the bottles to his breast, hiding them so that no one should see, or even, as he believed, suspect, Muzzy would make his way to his garret, and lock the door. Then he would experience thrills of pleasure at the prospect before him, and he would sit and drink and drink and mumble until every drop was gone; then he would sigh and wish for more. Such was the bad sweetness which life contained for this ill-starred man. CHAPTER XV. SUGGESTS THE DOUBT WHETHER EVERY FRIEND IN NEED IS A FRIEND INDEED. "Con," said Mr. Sheldrake, "I want you to assist me in a private little matter of my own, and to ask no questions." "Fire away, governor," was Con's rejoinder. "A young man will call upon you in half an hour, with one of my cards, on which I have written, 'Do what you can for the bearer, a friend of mine.' He wants to borrow some money." "And I am to lend it to him. How much?" "Stop a bit. He wants to borrow money; he is in difficulties. Backed Christopher Sly, and lost; he's in a mess, and I want to do him a good turn. He _must_ have the money, so you can put the screw upon him." "What interest shall I charge him?" "Whatever you like. It will be as well to make it something handsome; he will agree to anything so long as he can get the money." "They generally do agree to anything," observed Con, sagely; "it makes me laugh to see their long faces sometimes. What security can he give?" "None, I expect. You'll have to take his bill." "Is it to be a long dated bill?" "No, short; not longer than three months. I don't expect he'll be able to pay it when its due, but that's my affair."