"That's about it," assented Melky, with a nod. He leaned a little nearer. "You don't want to sell the ticket?" he suggested. "Give you a couple o' quid for it, if you do." "You seem very anxious to buy that watch," said Lauriston, laughing. "No--I don't want to sell the ticket--not I! I wouldn't part with that watch for worlds." "Well, if you don't, you don't," remarked Melky. "And as to wanting to buy--that's my trade. I ain't no reg'lar business--I buy and sell, anything that comes handy, in the gold and silver line. And as you ain't going to part with that ticket on no consideration, I'll tell you what it's worth, old as it is. Fifteen quid!" "That's worth knowing, any way," said Lauriston. "I shall always have something by me then, while I have that. You'd have made a profit of a nice bit, then, if I'd sold it to you?" "It 'ud be a poor world, mister, if you didn't get no profit, wouldn't it?" assented Melky calmly. "We're all of us out to make profit. Look here!--between you and me--you're a lit'ry gent, ain't you? Write a bit, what? Do you want to earn a fiver--comfortable?" "I should be very glad," replied Lauriston. "There's a friend o' mine," continued Melky, "wholesale jeweller, down Shoreditch way, wants to get out a catalogue. He ain't no lit'ry powers, d'you see? Now, he'd run to a fiver--cash down--if some writing feller 'ud touch things up a bit for him, like. Lor' bless you!--it wouldn't take you more'n a day's work! What d'ye say to it?" "I wouldn't mind earning five pounds at that," answered Lauriston. "Right-oh!" said Melky. "Then some day next week, I'll take you down to see him--he's away till then. And--you'll pay me ten per cent. on the bit o' business, won't you, mister? Business is business, ain't it?" "All right!" agreed Lauriston. "That's a bargain, of course." Melky nodded and turned to his steak, and Lauriston presently left him and went away. The plump lady at the desk gave him a smile as she handed him his change. "Hope to see you again, sir," she said. Lauriston went back to his room, feeling that the world had changed. He had paid his landlady, he had silver and copper in his pocket, he had the chance of earning five pounds during the coming week--and he expected a cheque for his two stories by every post. And if John Purdie made him the loan he had asked for, he would be able to devote a whole month to finishing his novel--and then, perhaps, there would be fame and riches. The dismal November evening disappeared in a dream of hope.