alks straight from the
shoulder, he does, just as you talked to-night. Lets 'em 'ave it
bing-bang in the eye. Don't he, Jane?"

"Bill means," she explained, with the shadow of a smile, for Paul's
benefit, "that Mr. Finn is an eloquent preacher."

"D'yer suppose he didn't understand what I meant?" he exclaimed,
setting down the beer glass which he was about to raise to his lips.
"Him, what I discovered reading Sir Walter Scott with the cover off
when he was a nipper with no clothes on? You understood, sonny."

"Of course I did." He laughed gaily and turned to his host, who had
suffered Barney Bill's queer eulogy with melancholy indulgence. "One of
these days I should like to come and hear you preach."

"Any Sunday, at ten and six. You would be more than welcome."

The meal was over. Barney Bill pulled a blackened clay pipe from his
waistcoat pocket and a paper of tobacco.

"I'm a non-smoker," said Mr. Finn to Paul, "and I'm sorry I've nothing
to offer you--I see little company, so I don't keep cigars in the
house--but if you would care to smoke---" he waved a courteous and
inviting hand.

Paul whipped out his cigarette case. It was of gold--a present last
Christmas from the Winwood fitting part of the equipment of a Fortunate
Youth. He opened it, offered a cigarette to Barney Bill.

"Garn!" said the old man. "I smokes terbakker," and he filled his pipe
with shag.

Mr. Finn rose from the table. "Will you excuse me, Mr. Savelli, if I
leave you? I get up early to attend to my business. I must be at
Billingsgate at half-past five to buy my fish. Besides, I have been
preventing your talk with our friends. So pray don't go. Good-night,
Mr. Savelli."

As he shook hands Paul met the sorrowful liquid eyes fixed on him with
strange earnestness. "I must thank you for your charming hospitality. I
hope you'll allow me to come and see you again."

"My house is yours."

It was a phrase--a phrase of Castilian politeness--oddly out of place
in the mouth of a Free Zionist purveyor of fried fish. But it seemed to
have more than a Castilian, more than a Free Zionist significance. He
was still pondering over it when Mr. Finn, having bidden Jane and
Barney Bill good-night, disappeared.

"Ah!" said Barney Bill, lifting up the beer jug in order to refill his
glass, and checked whimsically by the fact of its emptiness. "Ah," said
he, setting down the jug and limping round the table, "let us hear as
how you've been getting on, so