"Look at that!" cried the squire, as, after a random shot, the red ball went into one pocket, the white into another. "There's a shot!" "Yes--a fluke," sneered Tom. "Your life has been a series of flukes. It was one that you were born first, and another that you ever lived; while in earnest, as in play, it's always flake, fluke, fluke!" "Anchor flukes take fast hold of the ground, Tom," said the squire, with a sneering laugh. "Yes, and of the money, too," cried Tom. "Come, I'll give you another chance. Will you let me have that cash?" "No." "Not to save me from a writ?" "Who holds the bills?" "That scoundrel Thompson. North's cousin." "Then he'll worry you well for it," said the squire. "Let him. It'll be a lesson for you, and bring you to your senses. You'll be more careful." "Nonsense! Let me have the money." "I might have let you have it, and precious unwillingly, too," said the squire. "I might, I say, have let you have the money to save you for the last time, but your bullying tone, and the way in which you have spoken to me to-night, have quite settled it. You may have writs and he arrested, and turn bankrupt if you like: it doesn't make any difference to me. Yes, it would; for perhaps I should get rid of you for a time." "You cursed, mean, unbrotherly hound!" cried Tom furiously; and, throwing down the cue upon the table just as his brother was about to play, he swung out of the room, descended the stairs, and went up to his bedroom. "Hang him!" muttered the squire, going to a side table and pouring himself out half a tumbler of strong brandy, which he diluted a little, and then drank off half at a draught. "I wish to goodness he'd go altogether. I won't pay his debts any more. That's not a bad stroke. How a drop of brandy does steady a man's hand! Let him swear and growl. Five hundred's enough for him for a year, and the old man was quite right." He went on playing for another half-hour, practising strokes with very little success, till, glancing at his watch, he found it was close upon midnight, and placing his cue in the rack, he poured himself out some more brandy, drank it, turned down the lamp, and was moving towards the baize swing-door, when it opened, and Tom Candlish stood in the opening. "Hallo!" said the squire; "thought you'd gone to bed." "What's the good of my going to bed with that money trouble to think about." "Have some brandy? Make you forget it. I've left some on the table." "No fooling, Luke. I was out of temper. I've been worried, and I said things I didn't mean." "Always do. Here, let me come by. I want to go to bed." "All right, you shall directly, old fellow; but you'll let me have that money?" "Not a sou." "I want it horribly; and it will save me no end of worry. You'll let me have it?" "Not a sou, I tell you."