n of straw; if left to himself,
he could not pay anything, nor had he anything really to do with the
business for which his name stood sponsor; and Tozer's name was merely
placed there in the same fictitious way, without any trouble to Tozer,
or burden of responsibility. What was the difference, except that it
saved trouble and anxiety to everybody except the principal in the
affair--he who ought to bear the brunt? Mr. May recognised this without
doubt. It was he who had reaped the advantage; and whether Cotsdean was
the instrument who knew all about it, or Tozer, who did not know
anything about it, it was he, Mr. May, whose natural duty it was to meet
the claim and pay the money. He was an honest man; if he was
occasionally a little slow in his payments, no one could throw any doubt
upon his character. But, of course, should any unforeseen emergency
arise, the pupil at once made that straight. Mr. May felt that he had
only to go to the bank, which generally did not encourage his visits,
and tell them of his pupil, to have the money at once. Nobody could
reject such unmistakeable security. So that really there was no further
occasion for so much as thinking of Tozer; that was provided for; with
the freest conscience in the world he might put it out of his mind. But
how he could feel this so strongly, and at the same time revel in the
consciousness of a fuller purse, more to enjoy, and more to spend, is a
mystery which it would be difficult to solve. He did so, and many others
have done so besides him, eating their cake, yet believing that they had
their cake with the fullest confidence. He was a sensible man, rather
priding himself on his knowledge of business, with much experience in
human nature, and a thoughtful sense (fully evidenced in his writings)
of all the strange inconsistencies and self-deceits of mankind; but he
dropped into this strain of self-delusion with the calmest satisfaction
of mind, and was as sure of his own good sense and kindness as if he had
never in all his life taken a step out of the rigidest of the narrow
ways of uprightness.

Some part of this illusion, however, was sharply dispelled at a very
early date. Clarence Copperhead, who was not likely to err by means of
too much consideration for the feelings of others, grumbled frankly at
the mid-day meal.

"I don't understand a two o'clock dinner," he said; "it's lunch, that's
what I call it; and I won't be disagreeable about the kids, but I mu