ndifference to me."

"Why, Johnny, we're in the same boat!" expostulated Morris.

"Are we?" cried his brother. "I bet we're not! Have I committed forgery?
have I lied about Uncle Joseph? have I put idiotic advertisements in the
comic papers? have I smashed other people's statues? I like your cheek,
Morris Finsbury. No, I've let you run my affairs too long; now they
shall go to Michael. I like Michael, anyway; and it's time I understood
my situation."

At this moment the brethren were interrupted by a ring at the bell, and
Morris, going timorously to the door, received from the hands of a
commissionaire a letter addressed in the hand of Michael. Its contents
ran as follows:

"MORRIS FINSBURY, if this should meet the eye of, he will hear of
SOMETHING TO HIS ADVANTAGE at my office, in Chancery Lane, at 10 A.M.
to-morrow.

"MICHAEL FINSBURY."

So utter was Morris's subjection that he did not wait to be asked, but
handed the note to John as soon as he had glanced at it himself.

"That's the way to write a letter," cried John. "Nobody but Michael
could have written that."

And Morris did not even claim the credit of priority.

CHAPTER XVI

FINAL ADJUSTMENT OF THE LEATHER BUSINESS

Finsbury brothers were ushered, at ten the next morning, into a large
apartment in Michael's office; the Great Vance, somewhat restored from
yesterday's exhaustion, but with one foot in a slipper; Morris, not
positively damaged, but a man ten years older than he who had left
Bournemouth eight days before, his face ploughed full of anxious
wrinkles, his dark hair liberally grizzled at the temples.

Three persons were seated at a table to receive them: Michael in the
midst, Gideon Forsyth on his right hand, on his left an ancient
gentleman with spectacles and silver hair.

"By Jingo, it's Uncle Joe!" cried John.

But Morris approached his uncle with a pale countenance and glittering
eyes.

"I'll tell you what you did!" he cried. "You absconded!"

"Good-morning, Morris Finsbury," returned Joseph, with no less asperity;
"you are looking seriously ill."

"No use making trouble now," remarked Michael. "Look the facts in the
face. Your uncle, as you see, was not so much as shaken in the accident;
a man of your humane disposition ought to be delighted."

"Then, if that's so," Morris broke forth, "how about the body? You don't
mean to insinuate that thing I schemed and sweated for, and colported
with my own hands