'Yes,' the old man went on, 'you are a pair of fools, and a fool and his money is a pithy proverb, and true enough of one of you. But it is well sometimes to treat a fool according to his folly, and so, if you are really determined upon this adventure----' He paused, and looked again at the Captain and again at Cornelys Jensen. Cornelys Jensen remained perfectly unmoved. The Captain's face grew a shade redder. 'I am,' he said shortly. 'Very well, then,' said the old gentleman; 'as you are my brother, I must needs humour you. You shall have the moneys you need----' 'Now that's talking,' interrupted the Captain. 'Although I know it is a foolhardy thing for me to do.' 'You get good enough security, it seems to me,' said the Captain, a thought gruffly. 'Maybe I do,' said Nathaniel, 'and maybe I do not. Maybe I have a fancy for my fine guineas, and do not care to part with them, however good the security may be.' 'Lord, how you chop and change!' said the Captain. 'Act like a plain man, brother. Will you or will you not?' 'I have said that I will,' said Nathaniel slowly. I could see that for some reason it amused him to irritate his brother by his reluctance and by his slow speech. The ancient knave knew it for the surest way to spur him to the enterprise. 'When can I have the money?' asked the Captain. 'Not to-day,' said Nathaniel slowly, 'nor yet to-morrow.' 'Why not to-morrow? It would serve me well to-morrow.' 'Very well,' said Nathaniel with a sigh; 'to-morrow it shall be, though you do jostle me vilely.' 'Man alive! I want to be off to sea,' said the Captain. 'The sooner we are off the better,' interpolated Jensen; and once again I noted that Nathaniel shot a swift glance at him through his half-closed lids. 'You are bustling fellows, you that follow the sea life,' said Nathaniel. 'Well, it shall be to-morrow, and I will have all the papers made ready and the money in fat bags, and you will have nothing to do but to sign the one and to pocket the other. And now I must be jogging.' The Captain made no show of staying him. Nathaniel moved towards the door slowly, weighing up upon his crutched stick. 'Farewell, Marmaduke!' he said. He took the Captain's hand, but soon parted with it. Then he looked at me. 'Good-day, young fellow,' he said. 'Do not forget that I told you you went on a fool's errand.' I drew aside to make way for him, and he left the room without a look or a word for Cornelys Jensen. In another minute I saw him through the window hobbling along the street.