So you have had a fish-slice.  It is so strange, because on that very day I had my first present, and it was a fish-slice also.  We shall have fish at each end when we give a dinner.  If we get another fish-slice, then we shall give a fish-dinner—­or keep one of the slices to give to your friend Nelly Sheridan when she gets married.  They will always come in useful.  And I have had two more presents.  One is a Tantalus spirit-stand from my friends in the office.  The other is a pair of bronzes from the cricket club.  They got it up without my knowing anything about it, and I was amazed when a deputation came up to my rooms with them last night.  ’May your innings be long and your partnership unbroken until you each make a hundred not out.’  That was the inscription upon a card.

I have something very grave to tell you.  I’ve been going over my bills and things, and I owe ever so much more than I thought.  I have always been so careless, and never known exactly how I stood.  It did not matter when one was a bachelor, for one always felt that one could live quite simply for a few months, and so set matters straight.  But now it is more serious.  The bills come to more than a hundred pounds; the biggest one is forty-two pounds to Snell and Walker, the Conduit Street tailors.  However, I am ordering my marriage-suit from them, and that will keep them quiet.  I have enough on hand to pay most of the others.  But we must not run short upon our honeymoon—­what an awful idea!  Perhaps there may be some cheques among our presents.  We will hope for the best.

But there is a more serious thing upon which I want to consult you.  You asked me never to have any secrets from you, or else I should not bother you about such things.  I should have kept it for Saturday when we meet, but I want you to have time to think about it, so that we may come to some decision then.

I am surety to a man for an indefinite sum of money.  It sounds rather dreadful, does it not?  But it is not so bad as it sounds, for there is no harm done yet.  But the question is what we should do in the future about it, and the answer is not a very easy one.  He is a very pleasant fellow, an insurance agent, and he got into some trouble about his accounts last year.  The office would have dismissed him, but as I knew his wife and his family, I became surety that he should not go wrong again, and so I saved him from losing his situation.  His name is Farintosh.  He is one of those amiable, weak, good fellows whom you cannot help loving, although you never can trust them.  Of course we could give notice that we should not be responsible any longer, but it would be a thunderbolt to this poor family, and the man would certainly be ruined.  We don’t want to begin our own happiness by making any one else unhappy, do we?  But we shall talk it over, and I shall do what you advise.  You understand that we are only liable in case he defaults, and surely it is very unlikely that he will do so after the lesson that he has already had.