'Why, the New Friendships certainly was very good while they lasted; just for three months they was the thing certainly. Why, it came up, sir, as if there weren't no end of it, and just as clean as that half-crown--but I know'd there was an end coming.' 'Water, I suppose,' said Undy, sipping his toddy. 'Them clean takes, Mr. Scott, they never lasts. There was water, but that weren't the worst. Old Weazle knew of that; he calculated he'd back the metal agin the water, and so he bought all up he could lay his finger on. But the stuff was run out. Them Cambourne boys--what did they do? Why, they let the water in on purpose. By Monday night old Weazle knew it all, and then you may say it was as good as a play.' 'And how did you do in the matter?' 'Oh, I sold. I did very well--bought at £7 2s. 3d. and sold at £6 19s. 10 1/2d., and got my seven per cent, for the four months. But, Lord love you, them clean takes never lasts. I worn't going to hang on. Here's your health, Mr. Scott. Yours, Mr.---, I didn't just catch the gen'leman's name;' and without waiting for further information on the point, he finished his brandy-and-water. 'So it's all up with the New Friendships, is it?' said Undy. 'Up and down, Mr. Scott; every dog has his day; these Mary Janes will be going the same way some of them days. We're all mortal;' and with this moral comparison between the uncertainty of human life and the vicissitudes of the shares in which he trafficked, Mr. Manylodes proceeded to put some more sugar and brandy into his tumbler. 'True, true--we are all mortal--Manylodes and Mary Janes; old friendships and New Friendships: while they last we must make the most we can of them; buy them cheap and sell them dear; and above all things get a good percentage.' 'That's the game, Mr. Scott; and I will say no man understands it better than yourself--keep the ball a-running--that's your maxim. Are you going it deep in Mary Jane, Mr. Scott?' 'Who? I! O no--she's a cut above me now, I fear. The shares are worth any money now, I suppose.' 'Worth any money! I think they are, Mr. Scott, but I believe----' and then bringing his chair close up to that of his aristocratic friend, resting his hands, one on Mr. Scott's knee, and the other on his elbow, and breathing brandy into his ear, he whispered to him words of great significance. 'I'll leave you, Scott,' said Alaric, who did not enjoy the society of Mr. Manylodes, and to whom the nature of the conversation was, in his present position, extremely irksome; 'I must be back at the Bedford early.' 'Early--why early? surely our honest friend can get himself to bed without your interference. Come, you don't like the brandy toddy, nor I either. We'll see what sort of a hand they are at making a bowl of bishop.' 'Not for me, Scott.'