Mr. Price drew his legs into the room, and, closing the door with extraordinary care, passed the cuff of his coat across his eyes and surveyed them tenderly. “I’ve come home to die,” he said, slowly, and, tottering across the room, embraced his sister with much unction. “What are you going to die of?” inquired Mr. Spriggs, reluctantly accepting the extended hand. “Broken ’art, George,” replied his brother-in-law, sinking into a chair. Mr. Spriggs grunted, and, moving his chair a little farther away, watched the intruder as his wife handed him a plate. A troubled glance from his wife reminded him of their arrangements for the occasion, and he cleared his throat several times in vain attempts to begin. “I’m sorry that we can’t ask you to stay with us, Gussie, ’specially as you’re so ill,” he said, at last; “but p’r’aps you’ll be better after picking a bit.” Mr. Price, who was about to take a slice of bread and butter, refrained, and, closing his eyes, uttered a faint moan. “I sha’n’t last the night,” he muttered. “That’s just it,” said Mr. Spriggs, eagerly. “You see, Ethel is going to be married in a fortnight, and if you died here that would put it off.” “I might last longer if I was took care of,” said the other, opening his eyes. “And, besides, Ethel don’t know where you’ve been,” continued Mr. Spriggs. “We told ’er that you had gone to Australia. She’s going to marry a very partikler young chap—a grocer—and if he found it out it might be awk’ard.” Mr. Price closed his eyes again, but the lids quivered. “It took ’im some time to get over me being a bricklayer,” pursued Mr. Spriggs. “What he’d say to you—” “Tell ’im I’ve come back from Australia, if you like,” said Mr. Price, faintly. “I don’t mind.” Mr. Spriggs cleared his throat again. “But, you see, we told Ethel as you was doing well out there,” he said, with an embarrassed laugh, “and girl-like, and Alfred talking a good deal about his relations, she—she’s made the most of it.” “It don’t matter,” said the complaisant Mr. Price; “you say what you like. I sha’n’t interfere with you.” “But, you see, you don’t look as though you’ve been making money,” said his sister, impatiently. “Look at your clothes.” Mr. Price held up his hand. “That’s easy got over,” he remarked; “while I’m having a bit of tea George can go out and buy me some new ones. You get what you think I should look richest in, George—a black tail-coat would be best, I should think, but I leave it to you. A bit of a fancy waistcoat, p’r’aps, lightish trousers, and a pair o’ nice boots, easy sevens.” He sat upright in his chair and, ignoring the look of consternation that passed between husband and wife, poured himself out a cup of tea and took a slice of cake. “Have you got any money?” said Mr. Spriggs, after a long pause. “I left it behind me—in Australia,” said Mr. Price, with ill-timed facetiousness. “Getting better, ain’t you?” said his brother-in-law, sharply. “How’s that broken ’art getting on?”