good father taught me the sword and the pistol, according to the
practice of the best modern schools. Sergeant McPherson, his orderly,
gave me instruction in the sabre and bayonet. I was intended for a
commission in the 77th, my father's old regiment, when a pecuniary loss,
the result of an unfortunate speculation, broke my poor father's heart
and sent me out to seek my fortune with no more than Robin Fleeming's
sword and my right arm."

"Poor capital to start on," said the Englishman, in his bluff manner, as
he examined the article in question; "now you do not happen to write a
good round hand, do you?"

The Scot started and laid his hand on his sword hilt.

"Sir," he cried, "your avocations do not permit you to understand how
great an insult you offer to a gentleman!"

"Oh," said the other, "I don't know at all that you would have suited.
Our manager down at Barcelona is a very particular man; but then I would
have said a good word for you, and being the owner's son----"

"Say no more of the matter, I beg of you," said the Scot, haughtily. "I
have not yet been reduced to the necessity of choosing a mercantile
career."

"And that is a most fortunate thing for you," quoth the Englishman, with
the utmost gravity.

"Eh?" said the Scot, somewhat surprised, and, being occupied with his
own thoughts and with keeping an eye on the door, not exactly taking the
Englishman's meaning, "Oh, you were speaking of a mercantile career.
Yes, I am indeed fortunate in that my lines have been cast in pleasanter
places than before a ream of foolscap on a desk."

"It pays well, though," said the other placidly.

"For me, I care nothing for money," said Rollo Blair. "Eh! what is
this?"

He wheeled round quickly in response to a tap upon his arm, and the
Englishman, looking at him keenly (though apparently intently regarding
the opposite wall), saw him turn visibly paler.

The landlord was at Master Rollo Blair's elbow with the reckoning
written out upon a long sheet of paper. A couple of serving men, who
were probably privy to the extravagant total, stood sniggering and
whispering in a neighbouring archway. The Gallegan and his companions
sat crossing their legs and gossiping watchfully, darting inquisitive
glances under their brows at their late adversary, to see how he would
bear himself. Only that noble gentleman, the Old Castilian, sipped his
chocolate unmoved, and, with the perfection of good manners, stared at
the fire.