"Sell 'em? Yes; but who's to buy 'em? There's only two feet in London as will fit 'em, and they're Max's." "I declare it's too bad, Dick dear, and we so pressed for money. The rent's due, you know. Rolling in riches, as he is, and to behave so to his poor brother, who works so hard." "Gently, mother, gently: it's only a way he's got. But I do work pretty hard, don't I?--only I'm so unlucky." "Why don't you make a good dash at something, instead of plodding, then?" said Hopper suddenly. "Come, now," cried Dick, with an ill-used look and tone, "don't you turn round on me, Hoppy, old man. We're too good friends for that. It's what Max always says; and I ain't clever, so how can I?" Hopper relapsed into silence. "There, there, I shall get over it," continued Dick, working away; "and as to rolling in riches, why, Max can't help rolling in riches, any more than I can help rolling in nothing. It's his way. But I say, mother, if we had riches, I think I could roll in 'em with the best." "Don't talk nonsense, Dick," said Mrs Shingle, "when we're so worried too. There," she added, in a whisper, as their visitor rose, "we're driving him away." "Going, Hoppy, old man?" said Dick, as their visitor rose and laid aside his pipe. "Yes, going now," said the old fellow. "I'll drop in, perhaps, in the evening." "We haven't put you out, have we?" said Dick. "No, no, my lad; it's all right. Dick, just lend me sixpence. My money is not due till Monday." Dick's countenance fell, and he glanced at his wife. "Have you got a sixpence, Polly?" he said. "Not one," was the reply. "I'm very sorry, Hoppy, old man," said Dick, looking more puzzled than ever, and as if this time he really could not understand why he should be so poor and his brother so rich--"but really I haven't got it." "Never mind," said the old fellow--"never mind; I dare say I can do without." And, grumbling and muttering, he took up his hat and stick, and went off. VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER THREE. A POOR JUDGE ON THE BENCH. "Now he's put out," said Dick, looking puzzled at his wife. "I did not mean to upset him; but a man can't lend another man what he hasn't got, can he, mother?" There was no answer--only the clicking of Mrs Shingle's needle against her thimble. "I say a man can't lend what he hasn't got, can he, mother?" said Dick again, as he bent over some strange performance that he was achieving with an awl and some wax-end. "I wasn't thinking of that, Dick," said his wife, with a sigh, "but of the money for the boots." "There, you needn't fidget about that," said Dick, throwing out his arms so as to draw the hemp tight; "for we shouldn't have had the money if he had kept the boots." "Not had the money?" "No--he meant to keep it for the rent. He said so." "There!" exclaimed Mrs Shingle. "Well, that comes of having your brother for your landlord. He's as hard again as any one else."