The girl smiled a little doubtfully, and looked at Haworth. Augustus went right along piling words on top of Haworth’s implied offer as if hoping to bury it so deep it couldn’t be withdrawn. “My God! But that’s a great relief! You’ve no idea! It’s certainly splendid of you, Mr. Haworth! You really mean we can put up here with you for a bit? Wouldn’t make you trouble for the world or impose on your kindness, but if—if you _can_ manage it—just till I get on my feet again—I can’t tell how much—how——” “Come upstairs,” Haworth said, “and see which room you’d like.” He led the way to the floor above. The large room at the front of the house on the south side (the north side wasn’t in use, you’ll remember) was finally decided upon for the Findlays. Haworth occupied a smaller one quite a distance back on the same corridor. There were several rooms and two or three bathrooms between. When they came down he took them into the living room—that is to say, the room he used as such. It was a vast panelled apartment with a marble mantel and fireplace, and had been the dining room back in the old Cripps days. The chamber chosen by Augustus for the use of his wife and himself was directly above the front part of it. Findlay now began a long recital of his misfortunes, telling with acrimony how he’d lost this position and that, always through no fault of his own. Now and then he managed to bring in references to his uncle, all tending to impress one with the idea that he had been most unjustly treated. Haworth’s steady gaze, not for an instant leaving his face as he talked on, began to disturb Augustus. It gave him the feeling of being under calm and critical observation—which, in fact, he was. So before he’d gone far in his pathetic narrative he began to stumble about and lose track of what he was saying, and finally he rose suddenly, announcing that he’d completely forgotten about their trunks, which were at the South Station—for it seemed they had come in from somewhere—and he’d go and bring them out if Mr. Haworth didn’t mind. Mr. Haworth didn’t mind at all and said so, and Findlay got his coat and hat and was just going out of the front door when he suddenly stopped, remembering something. Then he called back into the room asking Haworth if he could come out there just a moment—he’d like to speak to him. “Awfully sorry, old chap,” he said in a carefully lowered voice when they were at the door together, “but could you—ah——You see I—I’m ashamed to say I haven’t got enough to pay an expressman. If I can once get the trunks out here we’ll be all right—if you don’t mind giving me a bit of a loan for that.” “I see,” said Haworth, and he turned and went upstairs.