uld like to hear more about your
wonderful good fortune and to discuss with you your plans for the
future. If you are occupied now, perhaps this evening at home. My
roses are worth looking at."

Jacob smiled in a peculiar fashion.

"I have a friend waiting for me in the third-class portion of the
train," he replied. "Until eleven o'clock, Mr. Pedlar."

CHAPTER II

The melancholy man was seated in his favourite corner, gazing out at
the landscape. He scarcely looked up as Jacob entered. It chanced that
they were alone.

"Richard Dauncey," Jacob said impressively, as soon as the train had
started again, "you once sat in that corner and smiled at me when I
got in. I think you also wished me good morning and admired my rose."

"It was two years ago," Dauncey assented.

"Did you ever hear of a man," Jacob went on, "who made his fortune
with a smile? Of course not. You are probably the first. Look at me
steadfastly. This is to be a heart-to-heart talk. Why do you go about
looking as though you were the most miserable creature on God's
earth?"

Richard Dauncey sighed.

"You needn't rub it in. My appearance is against me in business and in
every way. I can't help it. I have troubles."

"They are at an end," Jacob declared. "Don't jump out of the window or
do anything ridiculous, my friend, but sit still and listen. You have
been starving with a wife and two children on three pounds a week.
Your salary from to-day is ten pounds a week, with expenses."

Dauncey shook his head.

"You are not well this morning, man."

Jacob produced the letters and handed them over to his friend, who
read them with many exclamations of wonder. When he returned them,
there was a little flush in his face.

"I congratulate you, Jacob," he said heartily. "You are one of those
men who have the knack of keeping a stiff upper lip, but I know what
you have suffered."

"Congratulate yourself, too, old chap," Jacob enjoined, holding out
his hand. "Exactly what I am going to do in the future I haven't quite
made up my mind, but this I do know--we start a fresh life from
lunch-time to-day, you and I. You can call yourself my secretary, for
want of a better description, until we settle down. Your screw will be
ten pounds a week, and if you refuse the hundred pounds I am going to
offer you at our luncheon table at Simpson's to-day, I shall knock you
down."

Dauncey apologised shamefacedly, a few minutes later, for a brief
period of