‘Private Jervase,’ he said, ‘is drilling a squad in front of the Cupola. Send him here.’ He waved his visitor to a chair, and plunged into the examination of a heap of papers which lay before him. Jervase nursed his silk hat in both hands and waited, listening to the scattered noises of the barrack square and catching amongst them his son’s voice with a sort of fatal sound of command in it. ‘Is he going to talk to me like that?’ asked the father of himself; and the minutes went slowly by until Colonel Stacey’s batman tapped respectfully at the door, and announced ‘Private Jervase.’ ‘I’ll leave you,’ said the Colonel, gathering his papers in his hand, and darting towards the doorway. ‘I beg you won’t, sir,’ cried Jervase the elder, ‘I shall be more than obliged to you, sir, if you will help me to bring my boy to reason. There,’ he cried, casting a letter upon the table, ‘is a notice from the London agents that his commission is bought and paid for. There’s my cheque for a thousand pounds, and if that isn’t good enough for him, there’s fifty twenty-pound notes of the Bank of England, and he can have both of ‘em with as good a heart on my side as if he took the one and left the other.’ The Colonel looked from the son to the father, and back from the father to the son. ‘Really, Mr. Jervase,’ he said, ‘I don’t see that this is much of an affair of mine. I will leave you to fight it out between you.’ The Colonel walked to the door, and father and son were left together. John Jervase, banker, capitalist, driver of men, was not in the least like himself that morning, and his hands trembled so that he was fain to clutch one with another, and to hold both tight between his knees as he sat. ‘Look here, Polly,’ he began, but Polson gazed sternly straight before him, and gave no sign of sympathy or forgiveness. ‘Look here, Polly, I’ve had about a week of it, and I can’t stand it any longer. You and me’s got to be friends, or else I’ve got to put an end to things in a way as you won’t fancy.’ He waited, but there was no response from the stolid figure in front of him. Pol-son stared out of the window and stood silent and immobile as a statue. ‘I left you to yourself,’ said Jervase, ‘until I’d got everything right and comfortable. Major de Blaequaire has gone off to Southampton, and I believe he’s on his way to Varna, somewhere in the Black Sea. I’ve made a deposit with Stubbs, his lawyer, of no less than fifty thousand pounds, my lad. That’s been a shake, I tell you. I’ve had a good deal o’ trouble to raise that sum in a hurry, but I’ve done it, and there’s to be no action and no scandal of any sort until De Blaequaire comes back again. That gives your Uncle James and me time to turn round.’ He waited again, and still Polson stood like a statue and made no answer.