a footman with red plush knee-breeches. I began to perceive that my
friend's success must have been something colossal.

When we came down to the dining-room for supper, Mrs. Cullingworth was
waiting there to greet me. I was sorry to see that she was pale and
weary-looking. However, we had a merry meal in the old style, and her
husband's animation reflected itself upon her face, until at last we
might have been back in the little room, where the Medical Journals
served as a chair, instead of in the great oak-furnished, picture-hung
chamber to which we had been promoted. All the time, however, not one
word as to the object of my journey.

When the supper was finished, Cullingworth led the way into a small
sitting-room, where we both lit our pipes, and Mrs. Cullingworth her
cigarette. He sat for some little time in silence, and then bounding up
rushed to the door and flung it open. It is always one of his strange
peculiarities to think that people are eavesdropping or conspiring
against him; for, in spite of his superficial brusqueness and frankness,
a strange vein of suspicion runs through his singular and complex
nature. Having satisfied himself now that there were no spies or
listeners he threw himself down into his armchair.

"Munro," said he, prodding at me with his pipe, "what I wanted to tell
you is, that I am utterly, hopelessly, and irretrievably ruined."

My chair was tilted on its back legs as he spoke, and I assure you that
I was within an ace of going over. Down like a pack of cards came all my
dreams as to the grand results which were to spring from my journey to
Avonmouth. Yes, Bertie, I am bound to confess it: my first thought was
of my own disappointment, and my second of the misfortune of my friends.
He had the most diabolical intuitions, or I a very tell-tale face, for
he added at once--

"Sorry to disappoint you, my boy. That's not what you expected to hear,
I can see."

"Well," I stammered, "it IS rather a surprise, old chap. I thought from
the... from the..."

"From the house, and the footman, and the furniture," said he. "Well,
they've eaten me up among them... licked me clean, bones and gravy. I'm
done for, my boy, unless..."--here I saw a question in his eyes--"unless
some friend were to lend me his name on a bit of stamped paper."

"I can't do it, Cullingworth," said I. "It's a wretched thing to have to
refuse a friend; and if I had money..."

"Wait till you're asked, Munro," he int