"Spades and aces, no!" cried Chynoweth. "The very name of Wheal Carnac would send him into a passion. I'll ask him to make you an advance, Rumsey--that I will," he continued, busily writing away upon his slate. "Yes, do please." "No," said Chynoweth, rubbing it all off again with the sponge. "It's of no use. He hasn't the money." "Hasn't the money?" "No; it's hard times with us now, Rumsey, I can tell you, and where it's all gone I can't tell." "But I'm really in distress," said the doctor. "There are several bills I must pay. I can't put them off." Chynoweth looked at him, then at the slate, hesitated, thought, wrote "I O U fifty pounds" upon it, and rubbed it out, and ended by laying it down. "Are you very hard up, Rumsey?" he said. "I never was so pushed before," said the doctor, dolefully. "Hang it, Chynoweth, I feel sometimes as if it is of no use to keep struggling on. It was bad enough before that scoundrel Trethick deluded me into buying those shares." "I don't think Trethick is a scoundrel," said Chynoweth, quietly. "You don't?" "No; I believe he is as honest as the day." "Indeed?" said the doctor, in what was meant as a sarcastic tone. "Nice honesty. Let alone my case, look at Madge Mullion." "Ah, poor lass, he hasn't behaved very well to her. That's what I think. But look here, Rumsey, I've won a few pounds of you in my time." "Have you? Well yes, I suppose you have, Chynoweth. You always seemed to make more of a study of whist than I did." "Eh? Yes. Think so?" said Chynoweth, glancing at his desk-lid to see that it was close. "But look here, Rumsey, it's of no use to ask the governor for money now." "But I must. What am I to do?" "Well, look here, I'll lend you fifty pounds." "You--you, Chynoweth?" "Yes," said the little man, quietly; and, without noticing the excited, overcome look of his visitor, he methodically wrote put an I O U, and placed it before him to sign. "This--this is more than I expected of you, Chynoweth," said the doctor, huskily. "Well, do you know, Rumsey, it's more than I expected of myself. But there you are," he continued, taking notes to the amount from his pocket-book, "and pay me back a little at a time." "If I live I will," said the doctor; and, hastily catching up the money, he hurried away to conceal his emotion. "Poor old Rumsey!" muttered Chynoweth. "He's a good fellow, and some of these days, I dessay, I shall have to be in his hands. Oh, you're here again, are you?" "Mr Penwynn in his room, Chynoweth?" said Tregenna, entering unceremoniously, and going towards the door of the banker's sanctum. "No, sir; not come yet," said the clerk, rising. "All right, I'll wait. I want to write a letter or two." He walked in and shut the door, while Chynoweth resumed his place. "Nice state of affairs," he muttered. "Who's master here now?"