er," Tappitt had answered.
"If I'm to do that the whole thing will go to the dogs." He did not
exactly explain to the lawyer that Rowan had carried his infatuation
so far as to be desirous of brewing good beer, but he did make it
very clear that such a partner would, in his eyes, be anything but
desirable.

"Then, upon my word, I think you'll have to give him the ten thousand
pounds. I don't even know but what the demand is moderate."

This was very bad news to Tappitt. "But suppose I haven't got ten
thousand pounds!" Now it was very well known that the property and
the business were worth money, and the lawyer suggested that Rowan
might take steps to have the whole concern sold. "Probably he might
buy it himself and undertake to pay you so much a year," suggested
the lawyer. But this view of the matter was not at all in accordance
with Mr. Tappitt's ideas. He had been brewer in Baslehurst for nearly
thirty years, and still wished to remain so. Mrs. Tappitt had been of
opinion that all difficulties might be overcome if only Luke would
fall in love with one of her girls. Mrs. Rowan had been invited to
Baslehurst specially with a view to some such arrangement. But Luke
Rowan, as it seemed to them both now, was an obstinate young man,
who, in matters of beer as well as in matters of love, would not be
guided by those who best knew how to guide him. Mrs. Tappitt had
watched him closely at the ball, and had now given him up altogether.
He had danced only once with Augusta, and then had left her the
moment the dance was over. "I should offer him a hundred and fifty
pounds a year out of the concern, and if he didn't like that let him
lump it," said Mrs. Tappitt. "Lump it!" said Mr. Tappitt. "That means
going to a London lawyer." He felt the difficulties of his position
as he prepared to speak his mind to young Rowan on the morning after
the party; but on that occasion his strongest feeling was in favour
of expelling the intruder. Any lot in life would be preferable to
working in the brewery with such a partner as Luke Rowan.

"I suppose your head's hardly cool enough for business," he said, as
Luke came in and took a stool in his office. Tappitt was sitting in
his customary chair, with his arm resting on a large old-fashioned
leather-covered table, which was strewed with his papers, and which
had never been reduced to cleanliness or order within the memory of
any one connected with the establishment. He had turned his chair