But, unwilling to abandon the scheme altogether, he determined to ask his uncle Glegg to venture twenty pounds, on condition of receiving five per cent. of the profits. That was really a very small thing to ask. So when Bob called the next day at the wharf to know the decision, Tom proposed that they should go together to his uncle Glegg’s to open the business; for his diffident pride clung to him, and made him feel that Bobs’ tongue would relieve him from some embarrassment. Mr Glegg, at the pleasant hour of four in the afternoon of a hot August day, was naturally counting his wall-fruit to assure himself that the sum total had not varied since yesterday. To him entered Tom, in what appeared to Mr Glegg very questionable companionship,—that of a man with a pack on his back,—for Bob was equipped for a new journey,—and of a huge brindled bull-terrier, who walked with a slow, swaying movement from side to side, and glanced from under his eye-lids with a surly indifference which might after all be a cover to the most offensive designs. Mr Glegg’s spectacles, which had been assisting him in counting the fruit, made these suspicious details alarmingly evident to him. “Heigh! heigh! keep that dog back, will you?” he shouted, snatching up a stake and holding it before him as a shield when the visitors were within three yards of him. “Get out wi’ you, Mumps,” said Bob, with a kick. “He’s as quiet as a lamb, sir,”—an observation which Mumps corroborated by a low growl as he retreated behind his master’s legs. “Why, what ever does this mean, Tom?” said Mr Glegg. “Have you brought information about the scoundrels as cut my trees?” If Bob came in the character of “information,” Mr Glegg saw reasons for tolerating some irregularity. “No, sir,” said Tom; “I came to speak to you about a little matter of business of my own.” “Ay—well; but what has this dog got to do with it?” said the old gentleman, getting mild again.