“And of Tom, also, I conclude you feel sure?” “Yes, I do.” “And I am sure of Ger Yorke. So, if the master is directing his suspicion to the seniors, he’ll get floored. It’s odd what can have turned it upon them.” “I don’t think the master suspects the seniors,” said Arthur. “He called them to his aid.” “You heard what he just now said to Galloway. Jenkins, there is a knock at the door.” Jenkins went to open it. He came back, and said Mr. Yorke was wanted. Roland lazily proceeded to the outer passage, and, when he saw who was standing there, he put himself into a passion. “What do you mean by presuming to come to me here?” he haughtily asked. “Well, sir, perhaps you’ll tell me where I am to come, so as to get to see you?” civilly replied the applicant, one who bore the appearance of a tradesman. “It seems it’s of no use going to your house; if I went ten times a day, I should get the same answer--that you are not at home.” “Just take yourself off,” said Roland. “Not till you pay me; or tell me for certain when you will pay me, and keep your promise. I want my money, sir, and I must have it.” “We want a great many things that we can’t get,” returned Roland, in a provokingly light tone. “I’ll pay you as soon as I can, man; you needn’t be afraid.” “I’m not exactly afraid,” spoke the man. “I suppose if it came to it, Lady Augusta would see that I had the money.” “You hold your tongue about Lady Augusta. What’s Lady Augusta to you? Any odds and ends that I may owe, have nothing to do with Lady Augusta. Look here, Simms, I’ll pay you next week.” “You have said that so many times, Mr. Yorke.” “At any rate, I’ll pay you part of it next week, if I can’t the whole. I will, upon my honour. There! now you know that I shall keep my word.” Apparently satisfied, the man departed, and Roland lounged into the office again with the same idle movements that he had left it. “It was that confounded Simms,” grumbled he. “Jenkins, why did you say I was in?” “You did not tell me to say the contrary, sir. He came yesterday, but you were out then.” “What does he want?” asked Arthur. “Wanted me to pay him a trifle I owe; but it’s not convenient to do it till next week. What an Eden this lower world might be, if debt had never been invented!” “You need not get into debt,” said Arthur. “It is not compulsory.” “One _might_ build a mud hut outside the town walls, and shut one’s self up in it, and eat herbs for dinner, and sleep upon rushes, and turn hermit for good!” retorted Roland. “_You_ need not talk about debt, Channing.” “I don’t owe much,” said Arthur, noting the significance of Yorke’s concluding sentence. “If you don’t, some one else does.” “Who?” “Ask Hamish.” Arthur went on writing with a sinking heart. There was an undercurrent of fear running within him--had been for some time--that Hamish did owe money on his own private score. But this allusion to it was not pleasant. “How much do you owe?” went on Roland.