e knowledge of his son, and the result had been disastrous. One of
the Cornish tin mines in which he had sunk a large amount of money, and
which had hitherto yielded him a handsome return, became suddenly
exhausted, and the shares went down to zero. No firm could stand
against such a run of bad luck, and the African trading company reeled
before it. John Girdlestone had not said a word yet of all this to his
son. As claims arose he settled them in the best manner he could, and
postponed the inevitable day when he should have to give a true account
of their financial position. He hoped against hope that the chapter of
accidents or the arrival of some brilliant cargoes from the coast might
set the concern on its legs again.

From day to day he had been expecting news of one of his vessels.
At last one morning he found a telegram awaiting him at the office.
He tore it eagerly open, for it bore the Madeira mark. It was from his
agent, Jose Alveciras, and announced that the voyage from which he had
hoped so much had been a total failure. The cargo was hardly sufficient
to defray the working expenses. As the merchant read it, his head
dropped over the table and he groaned aloud. Another of the props which
upheld him from ruin had snapped beneath him.

There were three letters lying beside the telegram. He glanced through
them, but there was no consolation in any of them. One was from a bank
manager, informing him that his account was somewhat overdrawn.
Another from Lloyd's Insurance Agency, pointing out that the policies on
two of his vessels would lapse unless paid within a certain date.
The clouds were gathering very darkly over the African firm, yet the old
man bore up against misfortune with dauntless courage. He sat alone in
his little room, with his head sunk upon his breast, and his thatched
eye-brows drawn down over his keen grey eyes. It was clear to him that
the time had come when he must enlighten his son as to the true state of
their affairs. With his co-operation he might carry out a plan which
had been maturing some months in his brain.

It was a hard task for the proud and austere merchant to be compelled to
confess to his son that he had speculated without his knowledge in the
capital of the company, and that a large part of that capital had
disappeared. These speculations in many instances had promised large
returns, and John Girdlestone had withdrawn money from safer concerns,
and reinveste