"You wish me gone, young sir," said his uncle. "Candidly, I see no good result to arise from your stay. My father is of an excitable disposition, and, I am sorry to say, neither so strong nor so well as I could wish. I fear the shock would be too much for him." "I will take the hint," he said, rising; "I hate scenes, and if there is likely to be a second edition of those covert reproaches with which you have favoured me, why, it is best to withdraw as gracefully as possible, under the circumstances. You will tell him that I have called?" "Yes, sir." "You will tell him also--bear this in mind instead of sucking your pen, will you?--that if he owe me no ill-will, he will call on me next--that it is _his_ turn! I never ask a man twice for anything--except for the money he may owe me," he added, drily. "I will deliver your message, Mr. Hinchford." "Then I have the honour, sir, to apologize for this intrusion, and to wish you a good evening." He crossed the room and held out a thin white hand to Sidney, looking very strangely, very intently at him meanwhile. Sidney placed his own within it, almost instinctively, and the two Hinchfords shook hands. They parted; Sidney thought that he had finally taken his departure, when the door opened, and he reappeared. "Do you mind showing me a light?--it's a corkscrew staircase, leading to the bottomless pit, to all appearances." Sidney seized the table-lamp, and proceeded to the top of the stairs, which his uncle descended in a slow and gingerly manner. At the first landing he looked up, and said: "That will do, thank you--remember, _his_ turn next--good evening." Sidney went back to the room, and shortly afterwards Mr. Hinchford, the great banker, the owner of princely estates in three counties, was whirled away westward in his carriage. CHAPTER III. SIDNEY'S SUGGESTION. When Mr. Hinchford returned home, Sidney related the particulars of the strange visit that he had received; and from the effect which the news produced on his father, was grateful for the thought which had prompted him to request his uncle's departure. Sidney had noticed with sadness, lately, that his father was easily disturbed, easily affected, and it was satisfactory to know that it had been judicious on his part to advise his uncle's retirement. Mr. Hinchford tugged at his stock, held his temples, passed his hands through his scanty hair, puffed and blowed, dropped his first cup of tea over his knees, and did not subside into a moderate state of calmness for at least a quarter of an hour after the story had been told. "And so brother Geoffry turns up at last!--well, I thought he would." Sidney looked with amazement at his father. "He would have turned up years ago, I daresay, if it hadn't been for his wife--she and I never agreed; but old steady, quiet Geoffry, why, when we were boys, we were the best of friends."