“Take a muffin, Mr. Sawley.  Anything new in the railway world?”

“Ah, my dear sir,—­my good Mr. Augustus Reginald,—­I wanted to have some serious conversation with you on that very point.  I am afraid there is something far wrong indeed in the present state of our stock.”

“Why, to be sure it is high; but that, you know, is a token of the public confidence in the line.  After all, the rise is nothing compared to that of several English railways; and individually, I suppose, neither of us has any reason to complain.”

“I don’t like it,” said Sawley, watching me over the margin of his coffee-cup; “I don’t like it.  It savours too much of gambling for a man of my habits.  Selina, who is a sensible girl, has serious qualms on the subject.”

“Then why not get out of it?  I have no objection to run the risk, and if you like to transact with me, I will pay you ready money for every share you have at the present market price.”

Sawley writhed uneasily in his chair.

“Will you sell me five hundred, Mr. Sawley?  Say the word and it is a bargain.”

“A time-bargain?” quavered the coffin-maker.

“No.  Money down, and scrip handed over.”

“I—­I can’t.  The fact is, my dear young friend, I have sold all my stock already!”

“Then permit me to ask, Mr. Sawley, what possible objection you can have to the present aspect of affairs?  You do not surely suppose that we are going to issue new shares and bring down the market, simply because you have realised at a handsome premium?”

“A handsome premium!  O Lord!” moaned Sawley.

“Why, what did you get for them?”

“Four, three, and two and a half.”

“A very considerable profit indeed,” said I; “and you ought to be abundantly thankful.  We shall talk this matter over at another time, Mr. Sawley, but just now I must beg you to excuse me.  I have a particular engagement this morning with my broker—­rather a heavy transaction to settle—­and so—­”

“It’s no use beating about the bush any longer,” said Mr. Sawley, in an excited tone, at the same time dashing down his crape-covered castor on the floor.  “Did you ever see a ruined man with a large family?  Look at me, Mr. Dunshunner—­I’m one, and you’ve done it!”

“Mr. Sawley!  Are you in your senses?”

“That depends on circumstances.  Haven’t you been buying stock lately?”

“I am glad to say I have—­two thousand Glenmutchkins, I think, and this is the day of delivery.”

“Well, then, can’t you see how the matter stands?  It was I who sold them!”

“Well!”

“Mother of Moses, sir!  Don’t you see I’m ruined?”

“By no means—­but you must not swear.  I pay over the money for your scrip, and you pocket a premium.  It seems to me a very simple transaction.”

“But I tell you I haven’t got the scrip!” cried Sawley, gnashing his teeth, while the cold beads of perspiration gathered largely on his brow.