"Yes, I am, thank goodness! I wish you'd have a little more of my foolishness in you, Mr Luke Vine. There, I beg your pardon. What have you got there, shrimps?" "Yes," said Uncle Luke grimly, as he brought a brown paper parcel from the bottom of his basket, where it had lain under the wet piece of conger, whose stain was on the cover, "some nice crisp fresh shrimps. Here, Van--catch." He threw the packet to his brother's old friend and comrade, by whom it was deftly caught, while Mrs Van Heldre looked on in a puzzled way. "Put 'em in your safe till I find another investment for 'em. Came down by post this morning, and I don't like having 'em at home. Out fishing so much." "How much is there?" said Van Heldre, opening the fishy brown paper, and taking therefrom sundry crisp new Bank of England notes. "Five hundred and fifty," said Uncle Luke. "Count 'em over." This was already being done, Van Heldre having moistened a finger and begun handling the notes in regular bank-clerk style. "All right; five fifty," he said. "And he said they were shrimps," said Mrs Van Heldre. "Eh? I did?" said Uncle Luke with a grim look and a twinkle of the eye. "Nonsense, it must have been you." "Look here, Luke Vine," said Van Heldre; "is it any use to try and teach you at your time of life?" "Not a bit: so don't try." "But why expose yourself to all this trouble and risk? Why didn't your broker send you a cheque?" "Because I wouldn't let him." "Why not have a banking account, and do all your money transactions in an ordinary way?" "Because I like to do things in my own way. I don't trust bankers, nor anybody else." "Except my husband," said Mrs Van Heldre, beaming. "Nonsense, ma'am, I don't trust him a bit. You do as I tell you, Van. Put those notes in your safe till I ask you for them. I had that bit of money in a company I doubted, so I sold out. I shall put it in something else soon." "You're a queer fellow, Luke." "Eh? I'm not the only one of my family, am I? What's to become of brother George when that young scapegrace has ruined him? What's to become of Louie, when we're all dead and buried, and out of all this worry and care? What's to become of my mad sister, who squandered her money on a French scamp, and made what she calls her heart bankrupt?" "Nearly done questioning?" said Van Heldre, doubling the notes longwise. "No, I haven't, and don't play with that money as if it was your wife's curl-papers." Van Heldre shrugged his shoulders, and placed the notes in his pocket. "And as I was saying when your husband interrupted me so rudely, Mrs Van Heldre, what's to become of that boy by and by? Money's useful sometimes, though I don't want it myself." "All! you needn't look at me, Mr Luke Vine. It's of no use for you to pretend to be a cynic with me." "Never pretend anything, ma'am," said Uncle Luke, rising; "and don't be rude. I did mean to come in and have some conger-pie to-night; now I won't."