room, he with
note-book in hand, jotting down the various details necessary to make
the place into a comfortable habitation.

"I daresay you can help me with this if you will," he said presently. "I
shall turn some workmen on to it next week. Perhaps you will keep an eye
on them for me, decide on the decorations, and so forth. It is my
agent's house, you know."

"Where is your agent?" asked West abruptly.

Babbacombe smiled a little. "At the present moment--I have no agent.
That is what keeps me so busy. I hope to have one before long."

West strolled to a window and opened it, leaning his arms upon the sill.

He seemed about to relapse into one of his interminable silences when
Babbacombe, standing behind him, said quietly, "I am going to offer the
post to you."

"To me?" West wheeled suddenly, even with vehemence. "What for?" he
demanded sharply.

Babbacombe met his look, still faintly smiling. "For our mutual
benefit," he said. "I am convinced that you have ample ability for this
sort of work, and if you will accept the post I shall be very pleased."

He stopped at that, determined for once to make the man speak on his own
initiative. West was looking straight at him, and there was a curious
glitter in his eyes like the sparkle of ice in the sun.

When he spoke at length his speech, though curt, was not so rigorously
emotionless as usual.

"Don't you think," he said, "that you have carried this tomfoolery of
yours far enough?"

Babbacombe raised one eyebrow. "Meaning?" he questioned.

West enlightened him with most unusual vigour.

"Meaning that tomfoolery of this sort never pays. I know. I've done it
myself in my time. If I were you, I should pull up and try some less
expensive hobby than that of mending broken men. The pieces are always
chipped and never stick, and the chances are that you'll cut your
fingers trying to make 'em. No, sir, I won't be your agent! Find a man
you can trust, and let me go to the devil!"

The outburst was so unexpected and so forcible that at first Babbacombe
stared at the man in amazement. Then, with that spontaneous kindness of
heart that made him what he was, he grabbed and held his opportunity.

"My dear fellow," he said, not pausing for a choice of words, "you are
talking infernal rot, and I won't listen to you. Do you seriously
suppose I should be such a tenfold ass as to offer the management of my
estate to a man I couldn't trust?"

"What reason have you for tru