Hilliard fixed the speaker with his scornful eyes; the last words had moved him to curiosity.

“I can excuse a good deal in a man with an empty pocket,” pursued the other.  “I’ve been there myself; I know how it makes you feel—­ how much do you earn, by the bye?”

“Mind you own business.”

“All right.  I suppose it’s about two pounds a week.  Would you like to know what my in come is?  Well, something like two pounds an hour, reckoning eight hours as the working day.  There’s a difference, isn’t there?  It comes of minding my business, you see.  You’ll never make anything like it; you find it easier to abuse people who work than to work yourself.  Now if you go down to Liverpool, and ask how I got to my present position, you’ll find it’s the result of hard and honest work.  Understand that:  honest work.”

“And forgetting to pay your debts,” threw in the young man.

“It’s eight years since I owed any man a penny.  The people I did owe money to were sensible men of business—­all except your father, and he never could see things in the right light.  I went through the bankruptcy court, and I made arrangements that satisfied my creditors.  I should have satisfied your father too, only he died.”

“You paid tuppence ha’penny in the pound.”

“No, it was five shillings, and my creditors—­sensible men of business—­were satisfied.  Now look here.  I owed your father four hundred and thirty-six pounds, but he didn’t rank as an ordinary creditor, and if I had paid him after my bankruptcy it would have been just because I felt a respect for him—­not because he had any legal claim.  I meant to pay him—­understand that.”

Hilliard smiled.  Just then a block signal caused the train to slacken speed.  Darkness had fallen, and lights glimmered from some cottages by the line.

“You don’t believe me,” added Dengate.

“I don’t.”

The prosperous man bit his lower lip, and sat gazing at the lamp in the carriage.  The train came to a standstill; there was no sound but the throbbing of the engine.

“Well, listen to me,” Dengate resumed.  You’re turning out badly, and any money you get you’re pretty sure to make a bad use of.  But”—­ he assumed an air of great solemnity—­“all the same—­now listen ——­”

“I’m listening.”

“Just to show you the kind of a man I am, and to make you feel ashamed of yourself, I’m going to pay you the money.”

For a few seconds there was unbroken stillness.  The men gazed at each other, Dengate superbly triumphant, Hilliard incredulous but betraying excitement.

“I’m going to pay you four hundred and thirty-six pounds,” Dengate repeated.  “No less and no more.  It isn’t a legal debt, so I shall pay no interest.  But go with me when we get to Birmingham, and you shall have my cheque for four hundred and thirty-six pounds.”

The train began to move on.  Hilliard had uncrossed his legs, and sat bending forward, his eyes on vacancy.