"I think so. We shall see whether your book gets such; it's finished, I hear," spoke Gerald, leaning from the window to survey a man who had just crossed the street. "One never can tell what luck a work will have while it is in manuscript." "One can tell what it ought to have." "Ought! oughts don't go for much now-a-days; favour does though. The devil take the fellow." This last genial wish applied to the man, who had made for the house-door and was ringing its bell. Gerald grew just a little troubled, and betrayed it. "Don't let these matters disturb your peace, Gerald," advised Hamish in his kindest and most impressive manner. "You cannot fail to get on now. Have the publishers paid you anything yet?" "Paid me!" retorted Gerald rather savagely, "they are asking for the money I owe them. It was arranged that I should advance fifty pounds towards bringing the book out. And I've not been able to give it them yet." Gerald spoke truly. The confiding publishers, not knowing the true state of Mr. Yorke's finances, but supposing there could be no danger with a man in his position--living in the great world, of aristocratic connections, getting his name up in journalism--had accepted in all good faith his plausible excuses for the non-prepayment of the fifty pounds, and brought out the book at their own cost. They were reminding him of it now; and more than hinting that a bargain was a bargain. "And how I am to stave them off, the deuce only knows," observed Gerald. "I want to keep in with them if I can. The notion of my finding fifty pounds!" "There must be proceeds from a book with such reviews as these," said Hamish. "Let them take it out of their first returns." "Oh, ah! that's all very well; but I don't know," was the answer given gloomily. "Well, good night, old friend, for I must be off; you have my best wishes in every way. I am going to take home the book for a day; I should like to look over it; Winny says you have other copies." "Take it if you like," growled Gerald, who heard the maid's step on the stairs, and knew he was going to be appealed to. "Now then!" he angrily saluted her, as she came in. "I've told you before you are not to bring messages up to me after dusk. How dare you disobey?" "It's that gentleman that always _will_ see you, sir," spoke the discomfited girl. "I am gone to bed," roared Gerald; "be off and say so." And Hamish Channing, running lightly downstairs, heard the bolt of the room slipped, as the servant came out of it. That Gerald had a good deal of this kind of worry, there was no doubt; but he did not go the best way to work to prevent it. As soon as Hamish got home, he sat down to his writing-table, and set himself to examine Gerald's book. Gradually, as he turned page after page of the three volumes in rotation, a perplexed, dissatisfied look, mixed with much disappointment, seated itself in his face.