“He ought to have saved.”

“He could, at least, have lived by his calling but for you and for this debt which was incurred by you.  He is ruined by it.  What will you do for him?”

“I am not going to do anything for him,” said Joseph.  “Is it likely?  Did he ever have anything but a scowl for me?”

“He who injures another is always in the wrong.  You will, then, do nothing?  Think.  It is the open door.  He is your grandfather; he has kept you from starvation when you were turned out of office for drink and dishonesty.  I heard that you now have money.  I have been told that you have been seen to show a large sum of money.  Will you give him some?”

As a matter of fact, Joe had been, the night before, having a festive evening at the music-hall, from which his wife was absent, owing to temporary indisposition.  While there, he took so much Scotch whisky and water that his tongue was loosened and he became boastful; and that to so foolish an extent that he actually brandished in the eyes of the multitude a whole handful of banknotes.  He now remembered this, and was greatly struck by the curious fact that Lala Roy should seem to know it.

“I haven’t got any money.  It was all brag last night.  I couldn’t help my grandfather if I wanted to.”

“You have what is left of three hundred pounds,” said Lala Roy.

“If I said that last night,” replied Joe, “I must have been drunker than I thought.  You old fool! the flimsies were duffers.  Where do you think I could raise three hundred pounds?  No, no—­I’m sorry for the old man, but I can’t help him.  I’m going to see him again in a day or two.  We jolly sailors don’t make much money, but if a pound or two, when I come home, will be of any use to him, he’s only got to say the word.  After all, I believe it’s a kid, got up between you.  The old man must have saved something.”

“You will suffer him, then, even to be taken to the workhouse?”

“Why, I can’t help it, and I suppose you’ll have to go there too.  Ho, ho!  I say, Nig!” He began to laugh.  “Ho, ho!  They won’t let you wear that old fez of yours at the workhouse.  How beautiful you’ll look in the workhouse uniform, won’t you?  I’ll come home, and bring you some ’baccy.  Now you can cheese it, old ’un.”

“I will go, if that is what you mean.  It is the last time that you will be asked to help your grandfather.  The door is closed.  You have had one more chance, and you have thrown it away.”

So he departed, and Joe, who was of a self-reliant and sanguine disposition, thought nothing of the warning, which was therefore thrown away and wasted.

As for Lala, he called a cab, and drove to Shadwell.  And if any man ever felt that he was an instrument set apart to carry out a scheme of vengeance, that Hindoo philosopher felt like one.  The Count of Monte Cristo himself was not more filled with the faith and conviction of his divine obligation.