“Well, thanking you all the same, I will not touch a penny of your money; but I know you are long-headed and may think of some scheme for me. I’ve got nothing to sell of any value; I parted with my father’s watch—and it’s still at the pawnbroker’s; worse luck!” (His pitilessly selfish mother had borrowed ten pounds and forgotten the debt, and he had been compelled to apply to his “Uncle.”) Shafto found his salary a very tight fight; eleven pounds a month seemed to melt away in board, clothes, washing and those innumerable little expenses that crop up in London. “Anyhow, you have till Friday, you proud, obstinate boy, and before that, I may be able to thrash out something. I have noticed that you don’t look yourself the last few weeks, not my dear lively Douglas, tearing up and down stairs, whistling like a blackbird. Tell me the reason,” and she laid a well-shaped wrinkled hand upon his arm. Then, walking up and down the room, he frankly unfolded his troubles—the approaching marriage of his mother (this was no news), and, in an agitated and incoherent manner, his desperate predicament with regard to Cossie Larcher. “The poor boy,” said his listener to herself. “That man-hunting, determined little cat has got her claws into him. I have seen the vulgar, made-up minx, without education, fortune, or modesty, trying to carry off her gentleman cousin! But she shan’t have him. No! by hook or by crook, he must be got out of the country, as sure as my name is Joyce Malone!” CHAPTER VII “THE MONSTER” For a considerable time Mrs. Malone sat, stroking her long nose with her long forefinger and thinking profoundly; there fell, in consequence, an unusual silence. At last this was broken by the old lady, who exclaimed with an air of triumph: “Douglas, my boy, I do believe I have got hold of a bright idea!” “That’s nothing new,” he rejoined with a smile. “Come now, none of your blarney! You know the queer little monster you brought me some time ago. You see him there grinning at us out of the cabinet? Well, a friend of mine noticed him yesterday—she is a bit of a connoisseur, and she said that, if genuine, that diabolical object had considerable value! To-morrow, I will take it round to a shop in ‘the Grove,’ and get an opinion; let us hear what the expert says, and if the object is good and marketable, I’ll sell him—and you shall have the money. Now,” raising a hand authoritatively, “I warn you not to say ‘No’ to me again, for if you do, I’ll just take the poker and smash the deformity into a thousand atoms!” “Oh, well, I suppose that puts the lid on,” said Douglas, “but I ask you, if anything in the whole world can be meaner than to give a present and to take it back? However, I’ll consent to commit that outrage to save the monster. I don’t believe he is worth a sovereign!”