“You seem to have taken a lot of trouble to find out my history,” said Walter Hine, suspiciously.

“Business, sir, business,” said Mr. Jarvice.  It was on the tip of his tongue to add, “The early bird, you know,” but he was discreet enough to hold the words back.  “Now let me look to the future, which opens out in a brighter prospect.  It is altogether absurd, Mr. Hine, that a young gentleman who will eventually inherit a quarter of a million should have to scrape through meanwhile on three pounds a week.  I put it on a higher ground.  It is bad for the State, Mr. Hine, and you and I, like good citizens of this great empire, must consider the State.  When this great fortune comes into your hands you should already have learned how to dispose of it.”

“Oh, I could dispose of it all right,” interrupted Mr. Hine with a chuckle.  “Don’t you worry your head about that.”

Mr. Jarvice laughed heartily at the joke.  Walter Hine could not but think that he had made a very witty remark.  He began to thaw into something like confidence.  He sat more easily on his chair.

“You will have your little joke, Mr. Hine.  You could dispose of it!  Very good indeed!  I must really tell that to my dear wife.  But business, business!” He checked his laughter with a determined effort, and lowered his voice to a confidential pitch.  “I propose to allow you two thousand pounds a year, paid quarterly in advance.  Five hundred pounds each quarter.  Forty pounds a week, Mr. Hine, which with your three will make a nice comfortable living wage!  Ha!  Ha!”

“Two thousand a year!” gasped Mr. Hine, leaning back in his chair.  “It ain’t possible.  Two thou—­here, what am I to do for it?”

“Nothing, except to spend it like a gentleman,” said Mr. Jarvice, beaming upon his visitor.  It did not seem to occur to either man that Mr. Jarvice had set to his loan the one condition which Mr. Walter Hine never could fulfil.  Walter Hine was troubled with doubts of quite another kind.

“But you come in somewhere,” he said, bluntly.  “On’y I’m hanged if I see where.”

“Of course I come in, my young friend,” replied Jarvice, frankly.  “I or my executors.  For we may have to wait a long time.  I propose that you execute in my favor a post-obit on your uncle’s life, giving me—­well, we may have to wait a long time.  Twenty years you suggested.  Your uncle is seventy-three, but a hale man, living in a healthy climate.  We will say four thousand pounds for every two thousand which I lend you.  Those are easy terms, Mr. Hine.  I don’t make you take cigars and sherry!  No!  I think such practices almost reflect discredit on my calling.  Two thousand a year!  Five hundred a quarter!  Forty pounds a week!  Forty-three with your little income!  Well, what do you say?”

Mr. Hine sat dazzled with the prospect of wealth, immediate wealth, actually within his reach now.  But he had lived amongst people who never did anything for nothing, who spoke only a friendship when they proposed to borrow money, and at the back of his mind suspicion and incredulity were still at work.  Somehow Jarvice would be getting the better of him.  In his dull way he began to reason matters out.