only one of his eyes, the other being a good imitation but
unmistakeably glass. The whole effect of the face, however, was
singularly pleasing to the discerning critic. An out of door, reckless,
humorous, honest personality was stamped on every line of it and every
movement of the man. When he spoke his voice had a marked tinge of the
twang of the wild west that sounded a little oddly on the lips of a
country gentleman in these northern parts. He wore an open flannel
collar, a shooting coat, well cut riding breeches and immaculate leather
leggings, finished off by a most substantial pair of shooting boots.
Unlike Mr. Malcolm Cromarty, he evidently looked upon his visit as
expected.

"Good morning, Mr. Rattar," said he, throwing his long form into the
clients' chair as he spoke. "Well, I guess you've got some good advice
for me this morning."

Simon Rattar was proverbially cautious, but to-day his caution struck
his visitor as quite remarkable.

"Um," he grunted. "Advice, Mr. Cromarty? Umph!"

"Don't trouble beating about the bush," said the tall man. "I've been
figuring things out myself and so far as I can see, it comes to
this:--that loan from Sir Reginald put me straight in the meantime, but
I've got to cut down expense all round to keep straight, and I've got to
pay him back. Of course you know his way when it's one of the clan he's
dealing with. 'My dear Ned, no hurry whatever. If you send my heir a
cheque some day after I'm gone it will have the added charm of
surprise!' Well, that's damned decent, but hardly business. I want to
get the whole thing off my chest. Got the statement made up?"

Simon shook his head.

"Very sorry, Mr. Cromarty. Haven't had time yet."

"Hell!" said Mr. Cromarty, though in a cheerful voice, and then added
with an engaging smile, "Pardon me, Mr. Rattar. I'm trying to get
educated out of strong language, but, Lord, at my time of life it's not
so damned--I mean dashed easy!"

Even Simon Rattar's features relaxed for an instant into a smile.

"And who is educating you?" he enquired.

Mr. Cromarty looked a little surprised.

"Who but the usual lady? Gad, I've told you before of my sister's well
meant efforts. It's a stiff job making a retired cow puncher into a high
grade laird. However, I can smoke without spitting now, which is a step
on the road towards being a Lord Chesterfield."

He smiled humorously, stretched out his long legs and added:

"It's a nuisance, your not hav