“What do you say to thir-ty pounds?” he said, in a hushed voice.  “Thirty golden goblins?”

“What for?” inquired Mr. Scutts, with a notable lack of interest.

“For—­well, to go away for a day or two,” said the visitor.  “I find you in bed; it may be a cold or a bilious attack; or perhaps you had a little upset of the nerves when the trains kissed each other.”

“I’m in bed—­because—­I can’t walk-or stand,” said Mr. Scutts, speaking very distinctly.  “I’m on my club, and if as ’ow I get well in a day or two, there’s no reason why the company should give me any money.  I’m pore, but I’m honest.”

“Take my advice as a friend,” said the other; “take the money while you can get it.”

He nodded significantly at Mr. Scutts and closed one eye.  Mr. Scutts closed both of his.

“I ’ad my back hurt in the collision,” he said, after a long pause.  “I ’ad to be helped ’ome.  So far it seems to get worse, but I ’ope for the best.”

“Dear me,” said the visitor; “how sad!  I suppose it has been coming on for a long time.  Most of these back cases do.  At least all the doctors say so.”

“It was done in the collision,” said Mr. Scutts, mildly but firmly.  “I was as right as rain before then.”

The visitor shook his head and smiled.  “Ah! you would have great difficulty in proving that,” he said, softly; “in fact, speaking as man to man, I don’t mind telling you it would be impossible.  I’m afraid I’m exceeding my duty, but, as you’re the last on my list, suppose—­suppose we say forty pounds.  Forty!  A small fortune.”

He added some more gold to the pile on the table, and gently tapped Mr. Scutts’s arm with the end of the pen.

“Good afternoon,” said the invalid.

The visitor, justly concerned at his lack of intelligence, took a seat on the edge of the bed and spoke to him as a friend and a brother, but in vain.  Mr. Scutts reminded him at last that it was medicine-time, after which, pain and weakness permitting, he was going to try to get a little sleep.

“Forty pounds!” he said to his wife, after the official had departed.  “Why didn’t ‘e offer me a bag o’ sweets?”

“It’s a lot o’ money,” said Mrs. Scutts, wistfully.

“So’s a thousand,” said her husband.  “I ain’t going to ’ave my back broke for nothing, I can tell you.  Now, you keep that mouth o’ yours shut, and if I get it, you shall ‘ave a new pair o’ boots.”

“A thousand!” exclaimed the startled Mrs. Scutts.  “Have you took leave of your senses, or what?”

“I read a case in the paper where a man got it,” said Mr. Scutts.  “He ’ad his back ’urt too, pore chap.  How would you like to lay on your back all your life for a thousand pounds?”

“Will you ’ave to lay abed all your life?” inquired his wife, staring.

“Wait till I get the money,” said Mr. Scutts; “then I might be able to tell you better.”