"It must be Fred," he muttered. "I don't like it," he continued; "I never did see such things as gals--girls. If she wants such and such a fellow, why don't she say so? and if money'll get him, why, he's hers; but I'm not going to see her die before my eyes. I'd sooner she married a scamp--if she loves him. But he don't have the playing with any money I may give her. Now, if Max would only make the first advances, we might be friendly again. I can afford to be, and I will; but I don't like to make the first step. Jessie, my girl, if--I say if--if I was to become friends with your uncle again--" "Friends with Uncle Max?" cried Jessie, starting. "I've been thinking of it, you know; and I was going to say he did give you--us, I mean--the rough side of his tongue once." "That's--that's all forgotten now, father," faltered Jessie softly. "You forgive him, my gal, for what he said to you?" "Yes, father, yes," she cried, with a sob. "And you wouldn't mind meeting him again?" "N-no, father, I think not," she faltered. "And you wouldn't mind meeting your cousin Fred, eh?" "I--I don't think so, father; I would try not to mind." "I wouldn't press you, my dear," he said; "but you know Uncle Max is my brother, and blood is thicker than water, eh? I say blood is thicker than water; and some day I must die, and I should like to be friends first." "Die, father!" said Jessie, with a weary look. "Would it be very hard to die?" "Here, I say, Jessie, my pet, don't talk in that way. How should I know? I never tried. What makes you say that?" "Because--because, father--" She stopped short. "Oh, there, my gal, no one's going to die yet; but I say, Jessie, your cousin Tom--you wouldn't mind meeting him, too?" She turned upon him a mingled look of joy and dread; and then, shaking her head-- "No, no, father," she exclaimed, closing her eyes, and with the veins in her forehead standing out--"I could not bear to meet him." "It's Fred! I said it was," exclaimed Dick to himself. "Well, I'm sorry; but it can't be helped. I'll talk to him like a father, and bring him round. Now, if--What do you want, John?" He turned sharply round, for the door opened, and a page in a neat livery, hardly recognisable as the 'prentice of the shoemaker's workshop, entered the room. "Please, sir, here's a gentleman to see you." "Who is it?" cried Dick; "and what are you grinning at?" "Please, sir, it's Mr Maximilian Shingle; and 'ere's his card." Max Shingle had made up his mind, without any allusion to blood being thicker than water, to make the first advance to his brother. For it was very evident that Dick had hit upon some means of making money rapidly, whilst of late matters had been turning out very badly in his own business arrangements. No matter what he tried, or how he speculated, everything went wrong; until, in a kind of reckless gambling fit, to try and recoup himself for past losses, he had plunged himself more deeply in the mire.