‘When I looked over the letter-book this morning,’ said Beattie, when these matters had been discussed, ‘I was sorry to see a letter of Mr. Hatchett’s telling you that you need not come back again.’ ‘Ay! I dare say ye ken a’ aboot it,’ said the other. ‘If you mean that it was my doing, you are quite mistaken,’ said Beattie hastily. ‘Mr. Hatchett decided upon it himself; and really, you know, MacGowan, you can’t be very much surprised at it.’ MacGowan gave an indifferent kind of sigh, as much as to say that it mattered little from whose hand the blow had fallen, and that he did not very much care. ‘Will they give me a character?’ he asked suddenly, turning his eyes for the first time on his visitor. Beattie shook his head mournfully. ‘You might write me one yoursel’,’ suggested the ex-clerk. Beattie shook his head still more decidedly. ‘Unless I used the firm’s name, it would be of no use,’ said he; ‘and if I did, it might be as much as my place is worth.’ The gleam of hope died out in MacGowan’s watery eyes, and he turned once more to contemplate the dying fire. ‘What are you thinking of doing?’ asked Beattie after a pause. ‘Nothing.’ ‘But you must do something, or starve.’ ‘I don’t care.’ ‘Oh, nonsense, man! I’ll tell you what you ought to do--emigrate! In a new country, where there are fewer public-houses than there are in London, and no temptations to spend money, you might make a fresh start, and end by becoming a rich man.’ MacGowan made no answer. ‘Come, now; wouldn’t it be the most sensible thing to do?’ ‘May be; but how can I go abroad? I haven’t enough to pay fare to Aberdeen, let alone America.’ ‘Get your friends to lend you enough to pay your passage-money, and to start with.’ MacGowan gave a scornful laugh. ‘Where may they be, I wonder?’ said he. ‘Well, MacGowan,’ said Beattie, speaking very slowly and deliberately, ‘you know we Scots should help one another in a difficulty; and if I thought you would pay me back again, I wouldn’t mind giving you the means of making a fresh start.’ ‘Would you really, man?’ exclaimed MacGowan, looking up eagerly in Beattie’s face. ‘I would, if I thought you would really make an effort to repay me.’ ‘I would pay you back, as sure’s death,’ said MacGowan earnestly. ‘I wouldn’t advise any young man to go to America,’ said Beattie. ‘There are more men there than there is work for. Australia--Western Australia--that’s the place for a young fellow of talent and energy.’ ‘It’s a long way off,’ said MacGowan doubtfully. ‘Not in these days of big steamers,’ said Beattie in a cheerful tone, taking a newspaper from his pocket as he spoke. ‘See here, man,’ he added, running his eye over the shipping advertisements, ‘here’s your chance: “Steam to Australia. The _Tasmania_. Third-class passage, £13. Superior accommodation.” Sails to-morrow. What do you say to that?’ ‘It would be cheaper to go to the States,’ said MacGowan, reaching out his hand for the paper.