r anything of the sort. Oh, no! Quite
the reverse. He meditated a different revenge on society.

Mr. Prohack knew nothing of this meditated revenge, did not suspect it.
If he had suspected it, he might have felt less compassion than, on this
masculine evening with the unusual port, he did in fact feel. For he was
very sorry for Charlie. He longed to tell him about the fortune, and to
exult with him in the fortune, and to pour, as it were, the fortune into
his lap. He did not care a fig, now, about advisable precautions. He did
not feel the slightest constraint at the prospect of imparting the
tremendous and gorgeous news to his son. He had no desire to reflect
upon the proper method of telling. He merely and acutely wanted to tell,
so that he might see the relief and the joyous anticipation on his son's
enigmatic and melancholy face. But he could not tell because it had been
tacitly agreed with his wife that he should not tell in her absence.
True, he had given no verbal promise, but he had given something just as
binding.

"Nothing exciting to-day, I suppose," he said, when the silence had
begun to distress him in his secret glee.

"No," Charlie replied. "I got particulars of an affair at Glasgow, but
it needs money."

"What sort of an affair?"

"Oh! Rather difficult to explain. Buying and selling. Usual thing."

"What money is needed?"

"I should say three hundred or thereabouts. Might as well be three
thousand so far as I'm concerned."

"Where did you hear of it?"

"Club."

Charlie belonged to a little club in Savile Place where young warriors
told each other what they thought of the nature of society.

Mr. Prohack drew in his breath with an involuntary gasp, and then said:

"I expect I could let you have three hundred."

"_You couldn't!_"

"I expect I could." Mr. Prohack had never felt so akin to a god. It
seemed to him that he was engaged in the act of creating a future, yea,
a man. Charlie's face changed. He had been dead. He was now suddenly
alive.

"When?"

"Well, any time."

"Now?"

"Why not?"

Charlie looked at his watch.

"Well, I'm much obliged," he said.

* * * * *

III

Mr. Prohack had brought a new cheque-book from the Bank. It lay in his
hip-pocket. He had no alternative but to write out a cheque. Three
hundred pounds would nearly exhaust his balance, but that did not
matter. He gave Charlie the cheque. Charlie offered no further
inform