“Give him?” said her father, staring.

“I met Jack yesterday,” said Kate, “and I can see that he is as wretched as he can be.  He wouldn’t say so, of course.  If Mr. Hardy is successful you ought to recognize it.  I should suggest one of your new photos in an eighteenpenny frame.”

She slipped off the chair and quitted the room before her father could think of a suitable retort, and he sat smoking silently until the entrance of Mrs. Kingdom a few minutes later gave him an opportunity of working off a little accumulated gall.

While the junior partner was thus trying to obtain a footing at Equator Lodge the gravest rumours of the senior partner’s health were prevalent in the town.  Nathan Smith, who had been to see him again, ostensibly to thank him for his efforts on his behalf, was of opinion that he was breaking up, and in conversation with Mr. Kybird shook his head over the idea that there would soon be one open-handed gentleman the less in a world which was none too full of them.

“We’ve all got to go some day,” observed Mr. Kybird, philosophically.  “‘Ow’s that cough o’ yours getting on, Nat?”

Mr. Smith met the pleasantry coldly; the ailment referred to was one of some standing and had been a continual source of expense in the way of balsams and other remedies.

“He’s worried about ’is money,” he said, referring to Mr. Swann.

“Ah, we sha’n’t ’ave that worry,” said Mr. Kybird.

“Nobody to leave it to,” continued Mr. Smith.  “Seems a bit ’ard, don’t it?”

“P’r’aps if ’e ’ad ’ad somebody to leave it to ’e wouldn’t ’ave ’ad so much to leave,” observed Mr. Kybird, sagely; “it’s a rum world.”

He shook his head over it and went on with the uncongenial task of marking down wares which had suffered by being exposed outside too long.  Mr. Smith, who always took an interest in the welfare of his friends, made suggestions.

“I shouldn’t put a ticket marked ‘Look at this!’ on that coat,” he said, severely.  “It oughtn’t to be looked at.”

“It’s the best out o’ three all ’anging together,” said Mr. Kybird, evenly.

“And look ’ere,” said Mr. Smith.  “Look what an out-o’-the-way place you’ve put this ticket.  Why not put it higher up on the coat?”

“Becos the moth-hole ain’t there,” said Mr. Kybird.

Mr. Smith apologized and watched his friend without further criticism.

“Gettin’ ready for the wedding, I s’pose?” he said, presently.

Mr. Kybird assented, and his brow darkened as he spoke of surreptitious raids on his stores made by Mrs. Kybird and daughter.

“Their idea of a wedding,” he said, bitterly, “is to dress up and make a show; my idea is a few real good old pals and plenty of licker.”

“You’ll ’ave to ’ave both,” observed Nathan Smith, whose knowledge of the sex was pretty accurate.

Mr. Kybird nodded gloomily. “’Melia and Jack don’t seem to ’ave been ’itting it off partikler well lately,” he said, slowly.  “He’s getting more uppish than wot ’e was when ’e come here first.  But I got ’im to promise that he’d settle any money that ’e might ever get left him on ’Melia.”