worst came to the worst,
he had some three hundred pounds of his own still in the bank, and so
could assure, for two years at all events, the income of which his
mother and Jane had absolute need. For himself, he should find some way
of earning bread and cheese; he could no longer stand on his dignity,
and talk of independence, that was plain.

When at length his calamitous partner had gone, he made an indifferent
lunch on the cold meat he found in Mrs. Hopper's precincts, and then
decided that he had better take a walk; to sit still and brood was the
worst possible way of facing such a crisis. There was no friend with
whom he could discuss the situation; none whose companionship would
just now do him any particular good. Better to walk twenty miles, and
tire himself out, and see how things looked after a good night's sleep,
So he put on his soft hat, and took his walking-stick, and slammed the
door behind him. Some one was coming up the stairs; sunk in his own
thoughts he paid no heed, even when the other man stood in front of
him. Then a familiar voice claimed his attention.

"Do you want to cut me, Warburton?"

CHAPTER 16

Warburton stopped, and looked into the speaker's face, as if he hardly
recognised him.

"You're going out," added Franks, turning round. "I won't keep you."

And he seemed about to descend the stairs quickly. But Will at length
found voice.

"Come in. I was thinking of something, and didn't see you."

They entered, and passed as usual into the sitting-room, but not with
the wonted exchange of friendly words. The interval since their last
meeting seemed to have alienated them more than the events which
preceded it. Warburton was trying to smile, but each glance he took at
the other's face made his lips less inclined to relax from a certain
severity rarely seen in them; and Franks succeeded but ill in his
attempt to lounge familiarly, with careless casting of the eye this way
and that. It was he who broke silence.

"I've found a new drink--gin and laudanum. First rate for the nerves."

"Ah!" replied Warburton gravely. "My latest tipple is oil of vitriol
with a dash of strychnine. Splendid pick-me-up."

Franks laughed loudly, but unmirthfully.

"No, but I'm quite serious," he continued. "It's the only thing that
keeps me going. If I hadn't found the use of laudanum in small doses, I
should have tried a very large one before now."

His language had a note of bravado, and his att