“Well played, Mr. Vendale!  You combine the foreign quickness with the English solidity.  Accept my best congratulations.  Accept, also, my written guarantee.”

He rose; seated himself at a writing-desk at a side-table, wrote a few lines, and presented them to Vendale with a low bow.  The engagement was perfectly explicit, and was signed and dated with scrupulous care.

“Are you satisfied with your guarantee?”

“I am satisfied.”

“Charmed to hear it, I am sure.  We have had our little skirmish—­we have really been wonderfully clever on both sides.  For the present our affairs are settled.  I bear no malice.  You bear no malice.  Come, Mr. Vendale, a good English shake hands.”

Vendale gave his hand, a little bewildered by Obenreizer’s sudden transitions from one humour to another.

“When may I expect to see Miss Obenreizer again?” he asked, as he rose to go.

“Honour me with a visit to-morrow,” said Obenreizer, “and we will settle it then.  Do have a grog before you go!  No?  Well! well! we will reserve the grog till you have your three thousand a year, and are ready to be married.  Aha!  When will that be?”

“I made an estimate, some months since, of the capacities of my business,” said Vendale.  “If that estimate is correct, I shall double my present income—­”

“And be married!” added Obenreizer.

“And be married,” repeated Vendale, “within a year from this time.  Good-night.”

VENDALE MAKES MISCHIEF

When Vendale entered his office the next morning, the dull commercial routine at Cripple Corner met him with a new face.  Marguerite had an interest in it now!  The whole machinery which Wilding’s death had set in motion, to realise the value of the business—­the balancing of ledgers, the estimating of debts, the taking of stock, and the rest of it—­was now transformed into machinery which indicated the chances for and against a speedy marriage.  After looking over results, as presented by his accountant, and checking additions and subtractions, as rendered by the clerks, Vendale turned his attention to the stock-taking department next, and sent a message to the cellars, desiring to see the report.

The Cellarman’s appearance, the moment he put his head in at the door of his master’s private room, suggested that something very extraordinary must have happened that morning.  There was an approach to alacrity in Joey Ladle’s movements!  There was something which actually simulated cheerfulness in Joey Ladle’s face

“What’s the matter?” asked Vendale.  “Anything wrong?”

“I should wish to mention one thing,” answered Joey.  “Young Mr. Vendale, I have never set myself up for a prophet.”

“Who ever said you did?”