"You two friendly?" said Mr Peter at last, making a strenuous effort to thrust one finger into the bowl of his pipe without removing the waxed end from his lips, but finding it impossible, without apparently swallowing a goodly portion, from the length of the stem. "Friendly? of course we are. Can't you see?" replied Mr Jabez snappishly. "No! How should I know? Like him to know anything about your affairs?" said Mr Peter, turning to me. "Oh yes," I said. "Mr Jabez Rowle is a very great friend of mine." "Right!" said that individual, giving his head a nod. "I didn't come up on purpose to see you, Jabez," said Mr Peter. "Who said you did?" snapped Mr Jabez. "What did you come for? About what you said?" "Yes." There was another awkward pause, fortunately broken by Mary, who entered with a tray odorous with hot rump-steak and onions: and as soon as he smelt it, Mr Peter stood his pipe up in the corner of the fireplace, and softly rubbed his hands. His brother made no scruple about joining the meal, and as the brothers rose, Mr Jabez held out his hand with-- "Well, how are you, Peter?" "Tidy," said Mr Peter, and they shook hands as if they were cross with each other, and then they each made a hearty meal. "Got a latchkey, Jabez?" said Mr Peter, as, after supper, we all drew up round the fire and the visitor from Rowford refilled and lit his pipe, causing Mr Jabez to draw off from him as far as was possible. "Yes," he said shortly. "That's right," said Mr Peter; "don't want to go to bed, do you, young 'un?" "Oh, no," I said; "I'm too glad to see you again." The old man's eyes twinkled, as he looked at me fixedly. "Been a good boy, Jabez?" he said at last. "Who?--me?" "No, no; young 'un here." "Oh, yes. Can't you see?" "Thought he would be, or I shouldn't have sent him." "Humph!" I wanted to talk, but I found that it would be of no use now, so I contented myself with studying the brothers, and, just then, Tom Girtley came in. "Won't disturb you," he said quickly; "just off. Good-night, Mr Rowle, good-night, Tony." "Who's he?" said Mr Peter, as the door closed. "A friend of mine--a young solicitor." "Any good?--Trust him?" said Mr Peter quickly. "Yes, he is very clever in his profession," I said wonderingly. "Call him back, then," said Mr Peter. "I've got something for him to hear." CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR. PETER ROWLE'S BARGAIN. I was just in time to call Tom Girtley back as he reached the corner of the street, and he came up into my room, wondering, for the hour was getting late; but he took a chair quietly, and waited for what Mr Peter had to say. "Well, it ain't much," said the latter; "but it may mean a good deal. S'pose, sir, you just cast your eye over them there?" He took a packet of papers, tied with red tape, and docketed, out of his pocket, and passed them over to Tom Girtley, who immediately opened them in a very business-like way, and proceeded rapidly to mentally summarise their contents.