“Twenty-five thousand pounds!—­for everything?”

“Everything; yes.  What the devil do you suppose I mean?  Now just listen to me.”  Then he told his tale as he thought that it ought to be told.  He recapitulated all the money he had spent on his brother’s behalf, and all that he chose to say that he had spent.  He painted in glowing colors the position in which he would have been put by the Nice marriage.  He was both angry and pathetic about the creditors.  And he tore his hair almost with vexation at the treatment to which he was subjected.

“I think I’d take the twenty-five thousand pounds,” said Jones.

“Never!  I’d rather starve first!”

“That’s about what you’ll have to do if all that you tell me is true.”  There was again that tone of disappearing subjection.  “I’ll be shot if I wouldn’t take the money.”  Then there was a pause.  “Couldn’t you do that and go to law with him afterward?  That was what your father would have done.”  Yes; but Augustus had to acknowledge that he was not as clever as his father.

At last he gave Jones a commission.  Jones was to see his brother and to explain to him that, before any question could be raised as to the amount to be paid under the compromise, a sum of ten thousand pounds must be handed to Augustus to reimburse him for money out of pocket.  Then Jones was to say, as out of his own head, that he thought that Augustus might probably accept fifty thousand pounds in lieu of twenty-five thousand pounds.  That would still leave the bulk of the property to Mountjoy, although Mountjoy must be aware of the great difficulties which would be thrown in his way by his father’s conduct.  But Jones had to come back the next day with an intimation that Mountjoy had again gone abroad, leaving full authority with Mr. Barry.

Jones was sent to Mr. Barry, but without effect.  Mr. Barry would discuss the matter with the lawyer, or, if Augustus was so pleased, with himself; but he was sure that no good would be done by any conversation with Mr. Jones.  A month went on—­two months went by—­and nothing came of it.  “It is no use your coming here, Mr. Scarborough,” at last Mr. Barry said to him with but scant courtesy.  “We are perfectly sure of our ground.  There is not a penny due you;—­not a penny.  If you will sign certain documents, which I would advise you to do in the presence of your own lawyer, there will be twenty-five thousand pounds for you.  You must excuse me if I say that I cannot see you again on the subject,—­unless you accept your brother’s liberality.”

At this time, Augustus was very short of money and, as is always the case, those to whom he owed aught became pressing as his readiness to pay them gradually receded.  But to be so spoken to by a lawyer,—­he, Scarborough of Tretton, as he had all but been,—­to be so addressed by a man whom he had regarded as old Grey’s clerk, was bitter indeed.  He had been so exalted by that Nice marriage, had been so