“Nice, conciliating, agreeable companion this is,” soliloquised Walter: “I think I see myself making any second admission of having been wrong where he was right.” His self-humiliation, however, had not been altogether without an object. “Yes; I lost a considerable sum--that is, considerable for me--through this gentleman from Cariboo,” continued the captain. “It is all in train for being settled--I am not going to ask you, Richard, for another shilling. I am sure you have been already extremely generous--very much so. But the money can't be paid for a few months; and there is one rascal--an infernal Jew fellow--who, instead of replying to my letter, offering him very handsome terms, I am sure, has had the impertinence, I see, to write to mamma.” “A Jew fellow write to _my_ mother!” exclaimed Sir Richard, with an indignant emphasis upon the personal pronoun. “I am afraid so. I am almost sure I recognise his horrid handwriting upon this envelope.” He took down one of several letters upon the mantel-piece that had arrived that morning for the mistress of the house, and were awaiting her return. “You see he knows I'm under age, and he thinks to frighten one's people into immediate payment by threatening all sorts of things which he cannot really put into effect, but which will alarm mamma very much indeed. It's a common trick.” “Oh, indeed; I am not acquainted with the ways of such people myself. And what is it you propose to do, Walter?” “Well, I don't think my mother should see that letter at all. He is not a sort of person--the beggar, you see, spells 'Abbey' without an _e_--for a lady to have anything to do with.” “Nor a gentleman either, as I should think,” observed the baronet severely. “But I do not perceive how we can prevent this mischief. You cannot open the letter, nor destroy it, of course.” “No, of course not,” assented Walter, though with the air of a person who had only been very recently convinced of the impossibility. Sir Richard took the objectionable missive between his finger and thumb. _To the Honorable Lady Lisgard, Mirk Abby, Dalwynch_. What a deal of trouble this fellow Walter was causing! Of course, one did not wish one's brother any harm, but what a nice thing it would be if one could get him some appointment in the Colonies. New Zealand was said to be very salubrious, and had an excellently conducted church establishment: the last mail, too, had brought home (for the eleventh time) the joyful news that the Maories were finally subjugated. “A perfect savage,” observed Walter, with reference to Mr Moss Welcher Abrahams. “And yet with some good points,” argued the baronet, his thoughts still lingering in the antipodes. “I'm hanged if I ever heard of them, then,” replied his brother with irritation. “He's a black-leg and a usurer. I'd never have bet with such an infernal scoundrel, only that he offered me half a point more than the odds.”