“I forgot it,” said the old man, doggedly. “Besides, if you take my advice, you'd better let me stay a little longer to make sure of things.” Mr. Wright laughed disagreeably. “I dare say,” he said; “but I am managing this affair, not you. Now, you go round to-morrow afternoon and tell them you're off. D'ye hear? D'ye think I'm made of money? And what do you mean by making such a fuss of that fool, Charlie Hills? You know he is after Bella.” He walked the rest of the way home in indignant silence, and, after giving minute instructions to Mr. Kemp next morning at breakfast, went off to work in a more cheerful frame of mind. Mr. Kemp was out when he returned, and after making his toilet he followed him to Mrs. Bradshaw's. To his annoyance, he found Mr. Hills there again; and, moreover, it soon became clear to him that Mr. Kemp had said nothing about his approaching departure. Coughs and scowls passed unheeded, and at last in a hesitating voice, he broached the subject himself. There was a general chorus of lamentation. “I hadn't got the heart to tell you,” said Mr. Kemp. “I don't know when I've been so happy.” “But you haven't got to go back immediate,” said Mrs. Bradshaw. “To-morrow,” said Mr. Wright, before the old man could reply. “Business.” “Must you go,” said Mrs. Bradshaw. Mr. Kemp smiled feebly. “I suppose I ought to,” he replied, in a hesitating voice. “Take my tip and give yourself a bit of a holiday before you go back,” urged Mr. Hills. “Just for a few days,” pleaded Bella. “To please us,” said Mrs. Bradshaw. “Think 'ow George'll miss you.” “Lay hold of him and don't let him go,” said Mr. Hills. He took Mr. Kemp round the waist, and the laughing Bella and her mother each secured an arm. An appeal to Mr. Wright to secure his legs passed unheeded. “We don't let you go till you promise,” said Mrs. Bradshaw. Mr. Kemp smiled and shook his head. “Promise?” said Bella. “Well, well,” said Mr. Kemp; “p'r'aps--” “He must go back,” shouted the alarmed Mr. Wright. “Let him speak for himself,” exclaimed Bella, indignantly. “Just another week then,” said Mr. Kemp. “It's no good having money if I can't please myself.” “A week!” shouted Mr. Wright, almost beside himself with rage and dismay. “A week! Another week! Why, you told me----” “Oh, don't listen to him,” said Mrs. Bradshaw. “Croaker! It's his own business, ain't it? And he knows best, don't he? What's it got to do with you?” She patted Mr. Kemp's hand; Mr. Kemp patted back, and with his disengaged hand helped himself to a glass of beer--the fourth--and beamed in a friendly fashion upon the company. “George!” he said, suddenly. “Yes,” said Mr. Wright, in a harsh voice. “Did you think to bring my pocket-book along with you?” “No,” said Mr. Wright, sharply; “I didn't.” “Tt-tt,” said the old man, with a gesture of annoyance. “Well, lend me a couple of pounds, then, or else run back and fetch my pocket-book,” he added, with a sly grin.