had the air of one who
releases a great secret.

"Don't mention it, Pratt, whatever you do," he begged. "Mr. Bultiwell
would probably be besieged by applications from people who would be
quite useless to him."

"I shall not tell a soul," Jacob promised.

"You see," his companion went on, watching the ash of his cigar for a
moment, "the Mortimers and the Craigs have both come to an end so far
as regards participation in the business. Colonel Craig was killed
playing polo in India, and had no sons, and old Mortimer, too, had
only one son, who went into the diplomatic service. That leaves Mr.
Bultiwell the sole representative of the firm, and though he has, as
you know, a great dislike for new associations, it is certainly too
much responsibility for one man."

"The Mortimer and Craig interests have had to be paid out, I suppose?"
Jacob enquired.

"To a certain extent, yes," Mr. Pedlar admitted. "That is where the
opportunity for new capital comes in."

"I have made no plans yet," Jacob declared, rising to take his leave.
"If you like to place the figures before me within the course of the
next week or so, and the suggested terms, I might consider the
matter--that is, if I decide to go into business at all."

"I can't conceive a more comfortable position for a young man with
your knowledge of the trade," Mr. Pedlar said, as he wished his guest
good morning. "You shall have all the figures placed before you. Good
morning, and once more my heartiest congratulations, Mr. Pratt."

CHAPTER III

At twelve o'clock, Jacob was in Regent Street, and at one o'clock, in
a new blue serge suit, shirt, collar and tie of the latest pattern, he
was dividing his time between admiring his reflection in the mirror
and waiting in the entrance hall of Simpson's. Dauncey's coming was,
in its way, pathetic. With a pessimism engendered by years of
misfortune, he had found it impossible to preserve throughout the
morning the exultation of those first few minutes with Jacob in the
railway carriage. He entered the restaurant and came towards his
friend with a feverish light in his eyes and a trembling of the lips
which the latter only too well understood.

"It's all right, old fellow," Jacob assured him emphatically. "Throw
in your hat with mine. Here's our table--two cocktails waiting, you
see, and a bottle of the best the place has--I tell you the old
gentleman in Threadneedle Street parted without a murmur. I'm simply
burstin