"Of course not, till you convert me, Max. I'm a brand for the burning, Max. Why don't you try and save me? Teach me to sing some of those nice hymns you know by heart--`Fain would I leave this weary world.' Bah! How many would fain? Who made it weary? Who filled the beautiful world full of diseases and death and wickedness? Humbugs, sir--humbugs. I'm an old worldling, and I was put here in the world, and the longer I live the more beautiful I find it; and I don't want to leave it, even to carry your secret with me, friend Max Shingle. I mean to live as long as I can, taking my share of the bad as bitter to make the good sweet; and when it's time to set sail for the other land, I mean to go like a man, and say `Thank God for it all. Amen!' There's a wicked old reprobate for you, Max. Why don't you try to convert this old scoundrel, eh? Ah! I'm a bad one--a regular bad one--hopelessly lost. And now I've got rid of all my bile, and feel better, get out your cheque-book." Max rose with a sigh, unlocked the iron safe in the corner, and took out a cheque-book and laid it upon a table. "I can very ill spare this, John Hopper," he said. "Five pounds are five pounds now." "Always were, stupid!" said the old fellow. "Dear me, how much better I can hear to-day! Got rid of all that bile," he added, considering. "But don't you draw that for five pounds. Make it ten." "Ten pounds!" gasped Max. "Yes. Five extra for your conscience. You don't suppose your poor conscience is going to preach to you, as it has to-day, for nothing?" "But--" commenced Max. "Ten pounds, you goodly saint--you man after Heaven's own heart--you halo-promised piece of piety and man of heavenly manna!" cried Hopper. "Make it ten pounds directly, O smooth-faced piece of benignity, or I shall want twenty in less than a minute." Max Shingle hastily drew a cheque for ten pounds, blotted it, and passed it over; for he knew only too well that his visitor would keep his word, and that he should be obliged to obey. "That'll do--for the present," said Hopper, grinning, as he folded the cheque and placed it in his gouty pocket-book. Then he rose to go. "Good-bye: God bless you, Max! What a good thing it is for me that I have a wealthy saint who can relieve my necessities! Thank you, my dearest and best friend. I sha'n't give you any acknowledgment, because I know you mean this for a gift. Good-bye." "Good-bye," said Max, who could hardly contain his rage. "Good-bye. And a word more from your conscience. Good advice, mind. Look after Master Fred. Don't let him go your way." "You've got your money. Now be silent!" cried Max, savagely. "All right," said the old fellow; and he walked out, making his stick thump the floor, and nodding at Fred as he passed through to the outer office; while Max, as soon as he was alone, ground his teeth with rage, as he heaped a series of very unchristianlike curses upon his visitor's head.