By a mental freak which was characteristic of him he nursed the thought of connecting himself with Messrs. Quodling & Son, oil and colour merchants. Theirs was a large and sound business, both in town and country. It might not be easy to become traveller to such a firm, but his ingenious mind tossed and turned the possibilities of the case, and after a day or two spent in looking up likely men--which involved a great deal of drinking in a great variety of public resorts--he came across an elderly traveller who had represented Quodlings on a northern circuit, and who boasted a certain acquaintance with Quodling the senior. Thus were things set in train. At a second meeting with the venerable bagman--who had a wonderful head for whisky--Gammon acquired so much technical information that oil and colours might fairly be set down among his numerous "specialities." Moreover, his friend promised to speak a word for him in the right quarter when opportunity offered. "By the way," Gammon remarked carelessly, "are these Quodlings any relation to Quodling the silk broker in the City?" His companion smiled over the rim of a deep tumbler, and continued to smile through a long draught. "Why do you ask?" "No particular reason. Happen to know the other man--by sight." "They're brothers--Quodling senior and the broker." "What's the joke?" asked Gammon, as the other still smiled. "Old joke--very old joke. The two men just as unlike as they could be--in face, I mean. I never took the trouble to inquire about it, but I've been told there was a lawsuit years ago, something to do with the will of Lord somebody, who left money to old Mrs. Quodling--who wasn't old then. Don't know the particulars, but I'm told that something turned on the likeness of the younger boy to the man who made the will--see!" "Ah! Oh!" muttered Gammon reflectively. "An uppish, high-notioned fellow, Quodling the broker. Won't have anything to do with his brother. He's nothing much himself; went through the court not very long ago." Gammon promised himself to look into this story when he had time. That it could in any way concern him he did not seriously suppose, but he liked to track things out. Some day he would have another look at Quodling the broker, who so strongly resembled Mrs. Clover's husband. Both of them, it seemed, bore a likeness to some profligate aristocrat. Just the kind of thing to interest that queer fish Greenacre.