equence by all that numerous
class of persons who have still some reputation to lose, and find
themselves upon the point of losing it; by those who have made
undesirable acquaintances, who have mislaid a compromising
correspondence, or who are blackmailed by their own butlers. In private
life Michael was a man of pleasure; but it was thought his dire
experience at the office had gone far to sober him, and it was known
that (in the matter of investments) he preferred the solid to the
brilliant. What was yet more to the purpose, he had been all his life a
consistent scoffer at the Finsbury tontine.

It was therefore with little fear for the result that Morris presented
himself before his cousin, and proceeded feverishly to set forth his
scheme. For near upon a quarter of an hour the lawyer suffered him to
dwell upon its manifest advantages uninterrupted. Then Michael rose from
his seat, and, ringing for his clerk, uttered a single clause:

"It won't do, Morris."

It was in vain that the leather merchant pleaded and reasoned, and
returned day after day to plead and reason. It was in vain that he
offered a bonus of one thousand, of two thousand, of three thousand
pounds; in vain that he offered, in Joseph's name, to be content with
only one-third of the pool. Still there came the same answer: "It won't
do."

"I can't see the bottom of this," he said at last. "You answer none of
my arguments; you haven't a word to say. For my part, I believe it's
malice."

The lawyer smiled at him benignly. "You may believe one thing," said he.
"Whatever else I do, I am not going to gratify any of your curiosity.
You see I am a trifle more communicative to-day, because this is our
last interview upon the subject."

"Our last interview!" cried Morris.

"The stirrup-cup, dear boy," returned Michael. "I can't have my business
hours encroached upon. And, by the by, have you no business of your own?
Are there no convulsions in the leather trade?"

"I believe it to be malice," repeated Morris doggedly. "You always hated
and despised me from a boy."

"No, no--not hated," returned Michael soothingly. "I rather like you
than otherwise; there's such a permanent surprise about you, you look so
dark and attractive from a distance. Do you know that to the naked eye
you look romantic?--like what they call a man with a history? And
indeed, from all that I can hear, the history of the leather trade is
full of incident."

"Yes," said Morris, di