Flanders stared hard for a few seconds, unable to comprehend the serene faith that this little but exceedingly important man reposed in his fellow-man. He appeared to take it for granted that this startling piece of confidence would not be betrayed, no matter to whom it was extended. There was something actually pathetic in his guilelessness. Mr. Richard Flanders admittedly was staggered, and yet somewhere down in his soul he knew there was a spark of fairness that would become a stupendous obstacle in the path of his news-getting avarice. Of course, he was no less honourable than the rest of the boys! "You would be more generous toward your cousins, I fear, than they could be toward you," said the reporter, twisting his pencil nervously. After all, it WOULD create a sensation, this remarkable statement of Mr. Bingle. "Oh, they would cheerfully see me rot in the poorhouse," assented Mr. Bingle composedly. "I am not deceiving myself in regard to Geoffrey and Angela and Lizzie--I mean Elizabeth. You won't mention what I have just confided to you, will you, Mr. Flanders?" Flanders sighed. He had hoped that the petition would not be put into definite form. "Certainly not, sir--if you--er--if you'd rather I wouldn't," he managed to say with a fair show of alacrity. "But, gee!" The half-muttered ejaculation spoke volumes of regret. His host smiled complacently. It was settled, so far as he was concerned. Mr. Flanders was to be depended upon. "Still snowing when you came in?" he asked, quite irrelevantly but with interest. "Yes, sir--hard."