were out of her range altogether.  She took the prospectus out of her pocket, and ran her eyes over it again.  Capital, L500,000, in shares of L100 each.  Solicitors, Messrs Somebody Something & Co., Fetter Lane, E.C.  Bankers, The Shoreditch & Houndsditch Amalgamated Banking Corporation, St Mary Axe.  Acquisition of machinery, so much.  Cost of working, so much.  Estimated returns—­something perfectly enormous.  It all looked wonderful, quite wonderful.  She again determined to write to her bankers that very evening before dinner.

“You’re going to the theatre to-night, aren’t you, Austin?” she said, as he returned from seeing Mr Sheepshanks courteously off the premises.  “I want you to post a letter for me on your way.  Post it at the Central Office, so as to be sure it catches the night mail.  It’s a business letter of importance.”

“All right, auntie,” he replied, arranging his trouser so that it should fall gracefully over his wooden leg.

“And I do wish, Austin, that you’d behave rather more like other people when Mr Sheepshanks comes to see us.  There really is no necessity for talking to him in the way you do.  Of course it was a great compliment, his asking you to take a class in the Sunday-school, though I could have told him that he couldn’t possibly have made an absurder choice, and you might very well have contented yourself with regretting your utter unfitness for such a post without exposing your ignorance in the way you did.  The idea of telling a clergyman, too, that the Book of Genesis was too improper for boys to read, when he had just been recommending it!  I thought you’d have had more respect for his position, whatever silly notions you may have yourself.”

“I do respect the vicar; he’s quite a nice little thing,” replied Austin, in a conciliatory tone.  “And of course he thinks just what a vicar ought to think, and I suppose what all vicars do think.  But as I’m not a vicar myself I don’t see that I am bound to think as they do.”

“You a vicar, indeed!” sniffed Aunt Charlotte.  “A remarkable sort of vicar you’d make, and pretty sermons you’d preach if you had the chance.  What time does this performance of yours begin to-night?”

“At eight, I believe.”

“Well, then, I’ll just go in and tell cook to let us have dinner a quarter of an hour earlier than usual,” said Aunt Charlotte, as she folded up her work.  “The omnibus from the ‘Peacock’ will get you into town in plenty of time, and the walk back afterwards will do you good.”

* * * * *

The town in question was about a couple of miles from the village where Austin lived—­a clean, cheerful, prosperous little borough, with plenty of good shops, a commodious theatre, several churches and chapels, and a fine market.  Dinner was soon disposed of, and as the omnibus which plied between the two places clattered and rattled along at a good speed—­having to meet the seven-fifty down-train