“I'll be shot if I like to have any share in the whole transaction! Some day or other it will all come out, and who knows how much blame may be imputed to us, perhaps for actually advising the entire scheme,” said Harcourt. “You must see, my dear Harcourt, that you are only refusing aid to alleviate an evil, and not to devise one. If this boy--” “Well--well--I give in. I'd rather comply at once than be preached into acquiescence. Even when you do not convince me, I feel ashamed to oppose myself to so much cleverness; so, I repeat, I 'm at your orders.” “Admirably spoken,” said Upton, with a smile. “My greatest difficulty of all,” said Harcourt, “will be to meet Glencore again after this. I know--I feel--I never can forgive him.” “Perhaps he will not ask forgiveness, Harcourt,” said the other, with one of his slyest of looks. “Glencore is a strange, self-opinionated fellow, and has amongst other odd notions that of going the road he likes best himself. Besides, there is another consideration here, and with no man will it weigh more than with yourself. Glencore has been dangerously ill,--at this moment we can scarcely say that he has recovered; his state is yet one of anxiety and doubt. You are the last who would forget such infirmity; nor is it necessary to secure your pity that I should say how seriously the poor fellow is now suffering.” “I trust he'll not speak to me about this business,” said Harcourt, after a pause. “Very probably he will not. He will know that I have already told you everything, so that there will be no need of any communication from him.” “I wish from my heart and soul I had never come here. I would to Heaven I had gone away at once, as I first intended. I like that boy; I feel he has fine stuff in him; and now--” “Come, come, Harcourt, it's the fault of all soft-hearted fellows, like yourself, that their kindliness degenerates into selfishness, and they have such a regard for their own feelings that they never agree to anything that wounds them. Just remember that you and I have very small parts in this drama, and the best way we can do is to fill them without giving ourselves the airs of chief characters.” “You're at your old game, Upton; you are always ready to wet yourself, provided you give another fellow a ducking.” “Only if he get a worse one, or take longer to dry after it,” remarked Upton, laughing. “Quite true, by Jove!” chimed in the other; “you take special care to come off best. And now you 're going,” added he, as Upton rose to withdraw, “and I'm certain that I have not half comprehended what you want from me.” “You shall have it in writing, Harcourt; I'll send you a clear despatch the first spare moment I can command after I reach town. The boy will not be fit to move for some time to come, and so good-bye.” “You don't know where they are going to send you?”