they would be houseless beggars in the street. And what have I
done for that family, sir? I have put that money out of the reach of
Robert Gates, and placed it so that it shall be a blessing to his family
at his death. Every farthing is invested in shares in this office; and
Robert Gates, my lodge-porter, is a holder of three shares in the West
Diddlesex Association, and, in that capacity, your master and mine. Do
you think I want to _cheat_ Gates?"

"Oh, sir!" says I.

"To cheat that poor helpless man, and those tender innocent children!--you
can't think so, sir; I should be a disgrace to human nature if I did. But
what boots all my energy and perseverance? What though I place my
friends' money, my family's money, my own money--my hopes, wishes,
desires, ambitions--all upon this enterprise? You young men will not do
so. You, whom I treat with love and confidence as my children, make no
return to me. When I toil, you remain still; when I struggle, you look
on. Say the word at once,--you doubt me! O heavens, that this should be
the reward of all my care and love for you!"

Here Mr. Brough was so affected that he actually burst into tears, and I
confess I saw in its true light the negligence of which I had been
guilty.

"Sir," says I, "I am very--very sorry: it was a matter of delicacy,
rather than otherwise, which induced me not to speak to my aunt about the
West Diddlesex."

"Delicacy, my dear dear boy--as if there can be any delicacy about making
your aunt's fortune! Say indifference to me, say ingratitude, say
folly,--but don't say delicacy--no, no, not delicacy. Be honest, my boy,
and call things by their right names--always do."

"It _was_ folly and ingratitude, Mr. Brough," says I: "I see it all now;
and I'll write to my aunt this very post."

"You had better do no such thing," says Brough, bitterly: "the stocks are
at ninety, and Mrs. Hoggarty can get three per cent. for her money."

"I _will_ write, sir,--upon my word and honour, I will write."

"Well, as your honour is passed, you must, I suppose; for never break
your word--no, not in a trifle, Titmarsh. Send me up the letter when you
have done, and I'll frank it--upon my word and honour I will," says Mr.
Brough, laughing, and holding out his hand to me.

I took it, and he pressed mine very kindly--"You may as well sit down
here," says he, as he kept hold of it; "there is plenty of paper."

And so I sat down and mended a beautiful pen,