As Joyce ceased speaking there was a knock at the door, and Jack Byrne opening it, admitted young Mr. Harrington, the confidential clerk of Messrs. Potter and Fyfe. Young Mr. Harrington was festively attired in a garb of sporting cut, and wore his curved-rimmed hat on the top of his right ear; but there was an unusual, anxious look in his face, and he showed signs of great mental perturbation, not having, as he afterwards allowed to his intimate friends, "been so thoroughly knocked out of time since Magsman went a mucker for the Two Thou'." This perturbation was at once noticed by Mr. Byrne. "Ah, Mr. Harrington," said he; "glad to see you, sir. Not looking quite so fresh as usual," he added, with a cynical grin. "What's the matter--nothing wrong in the great turf world, I trust? Sister to Saucebox has not turned out a roarer, or Billy Billingsgate broken down badly?" "Thank you very much for your kind inquiries, Mr. Byrne," said Mr. Harrington, eyeing the old man steadily, without changing a muscle of his face. "I'll not forget to score up one to you, sir, and I'll take care to repay you that little funniment on the first convenient opportunity. Just now I've got something else in hand. Look here, let's stow this gaff! Mr. Joyce, my business is with you. The fact is, there is an awful smash-up at Brocksopp, and my governors want to see you at once." "At Brocksopp?" said Joyce, with a start. "A smash at Brocksopp?" "Yes," said Mr. Harrington. "The man that we were all depending on, young Mr. Bokenham, has come to grief." "Dead?" exclaimed old Byrne. "Oh no, not at all; political rather than social grief, I should have said. The fact is, so far as we can make out, Lord and Lady Steppe--you know Lady Steppe, Mr. Joyce, or, at all events, your friend Shimmer of the _Comet_ could tell you all about her: she was Miss Tentose in the ballet at the Lane--have persuaded our sucking senator to go to Egypt with them for the winter. Lady S.'s influence is great in that quarter, I understand--so great that he pitches up Brocksopp, and let's us all slide!" "Given up Brocksopp?" said old Byrne. "Chucked up his cards, sir," said Harrington, "when the game was in his hand. My governors' people are regularly up a tree, cornered, and all that; so they want to see you, Mr. Joyce, at once, and have sent me to fetch you." "To fetch him! Potter and Fyfe, of Abingdon Street, have sent you to fetch him" cried old Byrne, in great excitement. "Walter, do you think--do you recollect what I said to you some time ago? Can it be that it's coming on now?" Joyce made no verbal reply, but he grasped his old friend's hand warmly, and immediately afterwards started off with Mr. Harrington in the hansom cab which that gentleman had waiting at the door.