"How are you, John?" he said, advancing with outstretched hand. "But why ask? You look like a cherub--rosy, fat and sleek. I rejoice--and you, too, eh? What is there so delightful as the renewal of old affectionate ties, broken through a misconception? Do you see my hand held out in friendship? Better take it, John. No? You are wrong, brother-in-law, very wrong. You were always rash, always acting upon impulse, always fond of romance, always being led away by false notions of right and wrong. I frequently offered you advice which you would not take. In effect I was constantly saying to you, 'Be worldly, my boy; take the world as you find it, and make the best of it, not the worst.' That is my way, though it has treated me scurvily since we met. What do I do? Repine? Not a bit of it. 'Luck will turn,' said I to myself, and here's the proof. Luck has turned." During this speech, which was very heartily spoken, he walked close to my side with a hateful affectation of cordiality. As I did not answer him, he continued: "Why so silent, my dear John? Are you overcome by your feelings? Ah, yes, that must be it. Sudden joy confounds a man--makes it difficult for him to express himself. Now, I am never at a loss for words, but then I am older than you, more accustomed to ups and downs. I don't mind confessing to you--with a proper knowledge of your sympathetic nature--that I have had during the last twelve months any number of 'downs 'and no 'ups' worth mentioning. All my little ventures and speculations have come to grief. Half-a-dozen times I have been on the point of making my fortune and have been baulked by want of cash. You don't play cards, I believe. I do. You don't care for racing. I do. You don't tempt fortune by crying double or quits. I do. It's in my blood. I give you my word I should have been as right as a trivet if it hadn't been that just at the critical moment I found myself cursed with an empty purse. Devilish hard, wasn't it, when a fellow has a rich brother-in-law who would have said, 'Here's my purse, old boy; go in and win.' The mischief of it was that this dear friend had run off to lotus-land, to revel in the lap of beauty and virtue, the world forgetting, but not by the world forgot. No, John, not by the world forgot. We bore the absent one in mind; we talked of his excellencies; we deplored his absence; we longed for his return to the fold." He now went to the length of linking his arm with mine; I wrenched myself free. "What is it you want of me?" I demanded. "The oracle speaks," he cried, gaily. "What do I want? What does every one want?" "Money?" I asked. "Intelligence returns," he answered, "and we are getting into smooth water. Yes, John; money." "Did you track me here?" "John, John," he said, reproachfully. "Do I look like a spy? Did you ever know me to be guilty of a mean action?" "Answer my question."