about Uncle Chris and his methods of doing business, and it irked
him to be cut short like this.

"Yes, but I do not think.... That's all very well, but I have by no
means finished...."

"Yes, you have," said Wally.

"There's nothing more to talk about," repeated Jill. "I'm sorry this
should have happened, but you've nothing to complain about now, have
you? Good night."

And she turned quickly away, and walked towards the door.

"But I hadn't _finished_!" wailed Mr. Pilkington, clutching at Wally.
He was feeling profoundly aggrieved. If it is bad to be all dressed up
and no place to go, it is almost worse to be full of talk and to have
no one to talk it to. Otis Pilkington had at least another twenty
minutes of speech inside him on the topic of Uncle Chris, and Wally
was the nearest human being with a pair of ears.

Wally was in no mood to play the part of confidant. He pushed Mr.
Pilkington earnestly in the chest and raced after Jill. Mr.
Pilkington, with the feeling that the world was against him, tottered
back into the arms of Mr. Goble, who had now recovered his breath and
was ready to talk business.

"Have a good cigar," said Mr. Goble, producing one. "Now, see here,
let's get right down to it. If you'd care to sell out for twenty
thousand...."

"I would _not_ care to sell out for twenty thousand!" yelled the
overwrought Mr. Pilkington. "I wouldn't sell out for a million! You're
a swindler! You want to rob me! You're a crook!"

"Yes, yes," assented Mr. Goble gently. "But, all joking aside, suppose
I was to go up to twenty-five thousand...?" He twined his fingers
lovingly in the slack of Mr. Pilkington's coat. "Come now! You're a
good kid I Shall we say twenty-five thousand?"

"We will _not_ say twenty-five thousand! Let me go!"

"Now, now, _now_!" pleaded Mr. Goble. "Be sensible! Don't get all
worked up! Say, _do_ have a good cigar!"

"I _won't_ have a good cigar!" shouted Mr. Pilkington.

He detached himself with a jerk, and stalked with long strides up the
stage. Mr. Goble watched him go with a lowering gaze. A heavy sense of
the unkindness of fate was oppressing Mr. Goble. If you couldn't gyp a
bone-headed amateur out of a piece of property, whom could you gyp?
Mr. Goble sighed. It hardly seemed to him worth while going on.

IV

Out in the street Wally had overtaken Jill, and they faced one another
in the light of a street lamp. Forty-first Street at midnight is a
quiet oasis. They had it