Brian broke in boisterously. "Here, for Heaven's sake, don't start a sermon, dad! Comethup doesn't want it, and it won't improve me; and you, for your part, don't mean a word of it. Comethup quite understands the circumstances--don't you, old chap?" "Yes, yes," replied Comethup hurriedly. "I'm in rather--rather a hurry, and if you will let me know----" "How much we want?" Brian finished the hesitating sentence airily, and Comethup was grateful to him. "Well, suppose you let us have--dad's an expensive chap to keep, and I don't want to be forever worrying you--suppose you let us have a hundred. I'll look after it myself, and be strictly economical; and long before it's all gone my new book will be out and I shall have made my fortune. This next volume will certainly make my fortune--in an indefinable fashion, I feel sure of it." "Well, I haven't so much money with me, of course," said Comethup, "but I can give you a cheque, and they'll clear it for you at the local bank, if that will do." "Excellently," exclaimed Brian. "What a wonderfully generous fellow you are! Any one would think you had been sent expressly into the world to come to my aid at stated intervals and lift all worry from my shoulders. That you should be down here at this very hour--that's the wonderful part of the business!" Comethup wrote the cheque, and escaped as quickly as possible from their thanks. Mr. Robert Carlaw found it necessary to open the door for him, and even to accompany him down the stairs and through the bar, waving aside haughtily some common person who stood in the way. Outside, in the quiet moonlit street, he placed a hand on Comethup's shoulder and looked at him and sighed.