In fact, at this very moment, when these reflections were forming a part of Leonard’s great essay on the after-effects of evil--an essay which created only last month so great a stir that people talked of little else for a whole evening--the rich Australian was on his way to confess the fact that things were not exactly as he had chosen to present them. He did confess the truth, or as much of the truth as he could afford to express, but in an easy and irresponsible manner, as if nothing mattered much. He was a philosopher, to whom nothing did matter. He came in, he shook hands and laughed buoyantly; he chose a cigar from Leonard’s box, he rang the bell for whisky and a few bottles of soda; when the whisky and the soda had arrived and were within reach, he took a chair, and laughed again. “My boy,” he said, “I’m in a tight place again.” “In what way?” “Why, for want of money. That’s the only possible tight place at my age. At yours there are many. It is only a temporary tightness, of course.” He opened the soda-water and drank off the full tumbler at a gulp. “Temporary. Till the supplies arrive.” “The supplies?” Leonard put the question in a nasty, cold, suspicious manner, which would have changed smiles into blankness in a more sensitive person. But uncle Fred was by no means sensitive or thin-skinned. He was also so much accustomed to temporary tightness that the incongruity of tightness with his pretensions of prosperity had not occurred to him. “Supplies?” he replied. “Supplies from Australia, of course.” “I thought that you were a partner in a large and prosperous concern.” “Quite true--quite true. Barlow Brothers is both large and prosperous.” “In that case it is easy for you to draw upon your bankers or the agents for your bank or some friends in the City. You go into the City every day, I believe. Your position must be well known. In other words, I mistrust this temporary tightness.” “Mistrust? And from you? Really, Leonard----” “I put things together. I find in you none of the habits of a responsible merchant. I know that everywhere character is essential for commercial success----” “Character? What should I be without character?” “You come home as the successful merchant: you drink: you talk as if you were a debauched youngster about town: your anecdotes are scandalous: your tastes are low. Those are the outward signs.” “I am on a holiday. Out there--it’s very different. As for drink, of course in a thirsty climate like that of New South Wales--and this place--one must drink a little. For my own part, I am surprised at my own moderation.” “Very well. I will not go on with the subject, only--to repeat--if you are in a tight place, those who know your solvency will be very willing to relieve you. I hope you are not here to borrow of me, because----”