content
and eagerness, now furtive, now sanguine, yet losing the worse traits
in a still youthful smile as he came forward to meet his friend. Year
after year he clung to the old amorous hope, but he no longer spoke of
it with the same impulsive frankness; he did not shun the
subject--brought it, indeed, voluntarily forward, but with a shamefaced
hesitance. His declaration in a letter, not long ago, that he was
unworthy of any good woman's love, pointed to something which had had
its share in the obvious smirching of his character; something common
enough, no doubt; easily divined by Harvey Rolfe, though he could not
learn how far the man's future was compromised. Today Morphew began
with talk of a hopeful tenor. He had got hold of a little money; he had
conceived a project for making more. When the progress of their eating
and drinking cleared the way for confidential disclosures, Morphew
began to hint at his scheme.

'You've heard me speak of Denbow?' This was a man who had given him
lessons in photography; a dealer in photographic apparatus, with a shop
in Westminster Bridge Road. 'He's a very decent fellow, but it's all up
with him. His wife drinks, and he has lost money in betting, and now he
wants to clear out--to sell his business and get away. He came to me to
apologise for spoiling some negatives--he does a little printing for me
now and then and told me what he meant to do. Did I know of anyone
likely to take his shop?'

Harvey laughed.

'You're in with a queer lot of people, it seems to me.'

'Oh, Denbow is all but a gentleman, I assure you. He was educated at
Charterhouse, but made a fool of himself, I believe, in the common way.
But about his business. I've seen a good deal of it, going in and out,
and talking with them, and I know as much about photography as most
amateurs--you'll admit that, Rolfe?'

It was true that he had attained more than ordinary skill with the
camera. Indeed, but for this resource, happily discovered in the days
of his hopelessness, he would probably have sunk out of sight before
now.

'Denbow's salesman is a thoroughly honest and capable fellow--Hobcraft,
his name. He's been at the shop three or four years, and would be only
too glad to carry on the business, but he can't raise money, and Denbow
must have cash down. Now the fact is, I want to buy that business
myself.'

'I see. What does the man ask for it?'

Morphew fidgeted a little.

'Well, just at present there isn