"Only when you want money," muttered Max. "Only when I want money? Right. There, I told you I could read off your lips every word you say, so don't begin to curse me, and wish I was dead, because it will only make me want more. Think it, if you like. I say, you must look sharp after that boy Fred, or he'll go to the bad." Max frowned. "If he was half such a lad as Tom!" "Tom's a scoundrel--a vagabond!" exclaimed Max furiously. "Yes, yes, of course. To be sure he is. Every one is who doesn't do as you wish, Max Shingle. I'm a horrible old scoundrel, and yet you're obliged to put up with me. You can't afford to offend me, and I come to your house as often as I like; and I shall keep on doing so, because it's good for you. I'm like a conscience to you, and a devilish ugly old conscience, eh?--a deaf conscience--and I keep you from being a bigger scoundrel than you are. I say, Max, you'd give a thousand pounds down, now, to hear I was dead, wouldn't you?" "What is the good of talking like this?" said Max, leaning over to whisper to his visitor. "Hey? What's the good? A deal--does you good. I say, Max, I've often thought that you might be tempted to get me killed--by accident, of course. It is tempting, I know. You'd feel as if the old slate with the nasty writing on was wiped clean with a sponge. But it would be so ugly for such a good man to be exposed to such a temptation, and uglier still to add the crime of side-blow murder to his other sins. So do you know what I've done to save you from temptation?" There was a curious malignity of expression in the old man's face as, with a chuckling laugh, he asked his question and saw its effect. "No! What?" exclaimed Max, in agony. "Well, I've written it all down neatly on paper--not on a slate; and I've deposited it with my will." "Where?" "Ah, yes, that's another thing. Where it would be opened and read directly I was dead. Ha! ha! ha! Max, what an _expose_ that would be! But don't be nervous, man, and look so white. It wouldn't be a hanging matter." Max stretched across the table, and laid his hand upon his visitor's lips; but the old man thrust his chair back, gave the hand a sharp rap with his stick, and Max shrank back in his chair. "It isn't, I say, a hanging matter. But I say, Max, old fellow, I should look sharp after that boy Fred. Don't let him get into temptation. Like father, like son. Now, Tom--" "Curse Tom!" cried Max, biting his nails. "Not I," laughed the old man. "He isn't so bad; and you curse him quite often enough, you know. Ah, Max, what a blessing and relief it must be to you that you have reformed so, and become such a good, pious man!" Max raised his hands.