t
was not coming his way. He lit his pipe and, producing a bottle of rum
from a cupboard, helped himself liberally. The potent fluid softened him
somewhat, and a half-formed intention to keep the news from Mr. Kybird
melted away beneath its benign influence.

"After all, we've been pals for pretty near thirty years," said Mr. Smith
to himself.

He took another draught. "Thirty years is a long time," he mused.

He finished the glass. "And if 'e don't give me something out of it I'll
do 'im as much 'arm as I can," he continued; and, buttoning up his coat,
he rose and set out in the direction of the High Street.

The rain had ceased and the sun was making faint efforts to break through
watery clouds. Things seemed brighter, and Mr. Smith's heart beat in
response. He was going to play the part of a benefactor to Mr. Kybird;
to offer him access, at any rate, to such wealth as he had never dreamed
of. He paused at the shop window, and, observing through a gap in the
merchandise that Mr. Kybird was be-hind the counter, walked in and
saluted him.

"I've got news for you," he said, slowly; "big news."

"Oh," said Mr. Kybird, with indifference.

"Big news," repeated Mr. Smith, sinking thoughtlessly into the broken
cane-chair and slowly extricating himself. "Something that'll make your
eyes start out of your 'ed."

The small black eyes in question were turned shrewdly in his direction.
"I've 'ad news of you afore, Nat," remarked Mr. Kybird, with simple
severity.

The philanthropist was chilled; he fixed his eyes in a stony stare on the
opposite wall. Mr. Kybird, who had ever a wholesome dread of falling a
victim to his friend's cuteness, regarded him with some uncertainty, and
reminded him of one or two pieces of information which had seriously
depleted his till.

"Banns up yet for the wedding?" inquired Mr. Smith, still gazing in front
of him with fathomless eyes.

"They'll be put up next week," said Mr. Kybird.

"Ah!" said his friend, with great emphasis. "Well, well!"

"Wot d'ye mean by 'well, well'?" demanded the other, with some heat.

"I was on'y thinking," replied Mr. Smith, mildly. "P'r'aps it's all for
the best, and I'd better 'old my tongue. True love is better than money.
After all it ain't my bisness, and I shouldn't get much out of it."

"Out of wot, Nat?" inquired Mr. Kybird, uneasily.

Mr. Smith, still gazing musingly before him, appeared not to hear the
question. "Nice after the ra