llow, Mr. Paricles says I spent such a lot of money on,
speculator--whew, I hate ut!--and hemp too! Me!--Martha Chump! Do I want
to hang myself, and burn forty thousand pounds worth o' candles round my
corpse danglin' there? Now, there, now! Is that sense? And what'd Pole
want to buy me all that grease for? And where'd I keep ut, I'll ask ye?
And sure they wouldn't make me a bankrup' on such a pretence as that.
For, where's the Judge that's got the heart?"

Having apparently satisfied her reason with these interrogations, Mrs.
Chump departed, shaking her head at Wilfrid: "Ye smile so nice, ye do!"
by the way. Cornelia and Adela then rose, and Wilfrid was left alone with
his father.

It was natural that he should expect the moment for entire confidence
between them to have come. He crossed his legs, leaning over the
fireplace, and waited. The old man perceived him, and made certain
humming sounds, as of preparation. Wilfrid was half tempted to think he
wanted assistance, and signified attention; upon which Mr. Pole became
immediately absorbed in profound thought.

"Singular it is, you know," he said at last, with a candid air, "people
who know nothing about business have the oddest ideas--no common sense in
'em!"

After that he fell dead silent.

Wilfrid knew that it would be hard for him to speak. To encourage him, he
said: "You mean Mrs. Chump, sir?"

"Oh! silly woman--absurd! No, I mean all of you; every man Jack, as
Martha'd say. You seem to think--but, well! there! let's go to bed."

"To bed?" cried Wilfrid, frowning.

"Why, when it's two or three o'clock in the morning, what's an old fellow
to do? My feet are cold, and I'm queer in the back--can't talk! Light my
candle, young gentleman--my candle there, don't you see it? And you look
none of the freshest. A nap on your pillow'll do you no harm."

"I wanted to talk to you a little, sir," said Wilfrid, about as much
perplexed as he was irritated.

"Now, no talk of bankers' books to-night!" rejoined his father. "I can't
and won't. No cheques written 'tween night and morning. That's positive.
There! there's two fingers. Shall have three to-morrow morning--a pen in
'em, perhaps."

With which wretched pleasantry the little merchant nodded to his son, and
snatching up his candle, trotted to the door.

"By the way, give a look round my room upstairs, to see all right when
you're going to turn in yourself," he said, before disappearing.

The two fingers give