uld live a year, but the
old man has held out all this time, and Ted, the rascal, kept swearing
he couldn't pay the interest on his debt. Of course I could have made
him; but he knew I shouldn't dare to risk the thing coming to his
father's ears. I've had altogether about three hundred pounds, instead
of the four hundred a year he owed me--it was at four per cent. Now, of
course, I shall get all the arrears--but that won't pay for all the
mischief that's been done."

"Is it certain," asked Will, "that Strangwyn will pay?"

"Certain? If he doesn't I sue him. The case is plain as daylight."

"There's no doubt that he'll have his father's money?"

"None whatever. For more than a year now, he's been on good terms with
the old man. Ted is a very decent fellow, of his sort. I don't say that
I care as much for him now as I used to; we've both of us altered; but
his worst fault is extravagance. The old man, it must be confessed,
isn't very good form; he smells rather of the distillery; but Ted
Strangwyn might come of the best family in the land. Oh, you needn't
have the least anxiety. Strangwyn will pay, principal and interest, as
soon as the old man has retired; and that may happen any day, any
hour.--How glad I am to see you again, Will! I've known one or two
plucky men, but no one like you. I couldn't have gone through it; I
should have turned coward after a month of that. Well, it's over, and
it'll be something to look back upon. Some day, perhaps, you'll amuse
your sister by telling her the story. To tell you the truth, I couldn't
bear to come and see you; I should have been too miserably ashamed of
myself.--And not a soul has found you out, all this time?"

"No one that I know of."

"You must have suffered horribly from loneliness.--But I have things to
tell you, important things." He waved his arm. "Not to-night; it's too
late, and you look tired to death."

"Tell on," said Warburton. "If I went to bed I shouldn't sleep--where
are you staying?"

"Morley's Hotel. Not at my own expense," Sherwood added hastily. "I'm
acting as secretary to a man--a man I got to know in Ireland. A fine
fellow! You'll know him very soon. It's about him that I want to tell
you. But first of all, that idea of mine about Irish eggs. The trouble
was I couldn't get capital enough. My cousin Hackett risked a couple of
hundred pounds; it was all lost before the thing could really be set
going. I had a bad time after that, Will, a bad time,