"I don't want his name--he's good enough for any amount--but he would most likely have to pay the bill when it's due (excuse my saying so), and it wouldn't be friendly on my part to take it from him. The same thing occurred last year. I accommodated a friend of his with three hundred pounds; I did it only because Sheldrake persuaded me. Well, the fellow didn't pay, and Sheldrake insisted on cashing up, though I hadn't the slightest claim upon him. There's not one man in ten thousand would have done it; but it was like Sheldrake all over. I took the money, of course; it was business, you know, but it wasn't friendly. I don't want the same thing to occur again. Sheldrake thinks too well of people. He has a right to do as he pleases with his money, but hang me if I like to be a party to his throwing it away. Then, what do I know of you? It isn't reasonable of Sheldrake to expect me to do this; upon my soul it isn't! Are you in business? Is your father worth anything? Would he cash up if you put the screw on?" "I have no father," said Alfred, his heart growing fainter and fainter, "and I'm not in business. I'm a clerk." "O, you're in a situation, I suppose." "Yes, I'm a clerk at Tickle and Flint's." "Salary?" "Fifteen shillings a week." At mention of which amount Con shifted some books from one part of the table to another with very decided action, as if that settled the matter. "I can put some of it by," exclaimed Alfred imploringly. "I can put it all by, if you'll let me have fifty pounds for three months!" "Fifteen shillings a week wouldn't pay the interest, my boy," was Con's rejoinder. "Wouldn't cover risk." "Then Alfred suddenly thought of Lily. If he mentioned her, it might improve his standing in Con Staveley's estimation. "My sister earns money," he said in a shamefaced manner. "Indeed," very carelessly from Con. "What does she do?" "She sings at the Royal White Rose Music-hall. Her name's Lily. Perhaps you've heard her?" Thought Con, of Sheldrake, "That is your little game, eh?" "O, yes, I've heard her. So she's your sister. A pretty girl--I'd like to know her. But about this fifty pounds you want--I really don't think I can do it for you. Very sorry--very sorry, indeed, because you're a friend of Sheldrake's; but to speak candidly" (which he did, with a display of white teeth) "it isn't good enough. Best to be candid, you know."