sir. If he fails--"

"It may be your fault, Jonathan. The yarns given him when needed, might
have helped him. Tomorrow they may be too late."

"I don't look at things in that way, sir."

"Jonathan, how do you look at the Naylors' proposal?"

"As downright impudence. They hev the money to buy most things they
want, but they hevn't the money among them all to buy a share in your
grand old name and your well-known honorable business. I told Mr. Henry
that."

"However did the Naylors get at Mr. Henry?"

"Through horses, sir. Mr. Henry loves horses, and he hes an idea that he
knows all about them. I heard Fred Naylor had sold him two racers. He
didn't sell them for nothing--you may be sure of that."

"Do you know what Mr. Henry paid for them, Jonathan?"

"Not I, sir. But I do know Fred Naylor; he never did a honest day's
work. He is nothing but a betting book in breeches. He bets on
everything, from his wife to the weather. I often heard your father say
that betting is the argument of a fool--and Jonathan Greenwood is of the
same opinion."

"Have you any particular dislike to the Naylors?"

"I dislike to see Mr. Henry evening himself with such a bad lot; every
one of them is as worthless as a canceled postage stamp."

"They are rich, I hear."

"To be sure they are. I think no better of them for that. All they hev
has come over the devil's back. I hev taken the measure of them three
lads, and I know them to be three poor creatures. Mr. Henry Hatton
ought not to be counted with such a crowd."

"You are right, Jonathan. In this case, I am obliged to you for your
interference. I think this is all we need to discuss at this time."

"Nay, but it isn't. I'm sorry to say, there is that little lass o'
Lugur's. You must interfere there, and you can't do it too soon."

"Lugur? Who is Lugur? I never heard of the man. He is not in the Hatton
factory, that I know."

"He isn't in anybody's factory. He is head teacher in the Methodist
school here."

"Well, what of that?"

"He has a daughter, a little lass about eighteen years old."

"And she is pretty, I suppose?"

"There's none to equal her in this part of England. She's as sweet as a
flower."

"And her father is----"

"Hard as Pharaoh. She's the light o' his eyes, and the breath o' his
nostrils. So she ought to be. Her mother died when she was two years
old, and Ralph Lugur hes been mother and father both to her. He took her
with him wherever he went except in