‘I don’t ask you to do that,’ said Beattie quietly, as a satirical smile crossed his face. ‘You have plenty of time to go to Fenchurch Street and take your ticket, before the office closes. I will expect you at eight, at my lodgings, to hear how you have got on.’ At a few minutes past eight MacGowan made his appearance at Beattie’s rooms. He was sober, but to Beattie’s shrewd eye it was evident that he had been taking something in honour of the impending change in his fortunes. This, however, was only what might have been expected. ‘Have you got your passage-ticket?’ began Beattie, rather sharply. ‘Yes, sir,’ answered MacGowan, handing over a piece of paper. ‘I took it----’ ‘Why, how’s this?’ exclaimed Beattie; ‘this ticket is in the name of P. Macartney!’ ‘I was telling you, sir,’ answered MacGowan in an injured tone, ‘that I thought it better to take another name, and----’ ‘And make a completely fresh start? Quite right. You showed great good sense in doing that, MacGowan. Much better to break with the past altogether. But why on earth did you take an Irish name, when everybody can see you are a Scotchman?’ ‘It’s a Scotch name, too,’ answered MacGowan, in a slightly offended tone. ‘It was my mother’s name. And my grandfather was called Peter.’ ‘Oh, very well; I don’t suppose it very much matters,’ said Beattie, handing him back the ticket. ‘When does the steamer sail?’ ‘To-morrow afternoon or evening, sir. We are to be on board by four o’clock.’ ‘I’ll come down and see you off. St. Margaret’s Dock, isn’t it?’ ‘Yes, sir; but it’s an awkward place to get to, and a long way. I could call on you, Mr. Beattie, at any place and hour you choose to appoint.’ ‘No, no,’ said Beattie, smiling. ‘I’ll meet you at the ship. Will you take a glass of wine before you go?’ ‘Nothing, Mr. Beattie; nothing for me,’ said MacGowan, with a deprecatory wave of the hand, turning away his head, as if to avoid the very sight of temptation. And so he took his leave. ‘Arrant humbug!’ exclaimed Beattie, as his visitor left the house. ‘He’ll go straight to a public-house. And he’ll drink himself to death within a month after he lands. Perhaps it would have been better if I had given him a little money; but sooner or later it comes all to the same thing.’ David MacGowan was waiting for his benefactor, as the latter drove down to St. Margaret’s Dock the following afternoon. ‘That’s the steamer, is it?’ said Beattie; ‘and a fine ship she is. I almost wish I were going to Australia too, by Jove!’ MacGowan grinned faintly, as if the treat of having Mr. Beattie as a companion were too good to hope or pray for; and Beattie plunged his hand into his pocket. The hoarse cry of the steam fog-whistle was already sounding for the last time. ‘There’s the money I promised to lend you,’ said Beattie. ‘Count it, and see that it’s all right.’ ‘No need to do that, sir,’ murmured MacGowan. ‘I hope you’ll make a good use of it, and--prosper, you know. Good-bye.’