t speaker
that his mind dwelt with a doubt. That fellow Ventnor, to whom he owed
money--there had been something just a little queer about his tone--as
much as to say, "I smell a rat." Well! one would see that at the
creditors' meeting in half an hour.

"Mr. Pillin, sir."

"Show him in!"

In a fur coat which seemed to extinguish his thin form, Joe Pillin
entered. It was snowing, and the cold had nipped and yellowed his meagre
face between its slight grey whiskering. He said thinly:

"How are you, Sylvanus? Aren't you perished in this cold?"

"Warm as a toast. Sit down. Take off your coat."

"Oh! I should be lost without it. You must have a fire inside you. So-so
it's gone through?"

Old Heythorp nodded; and Joe Pillin, wandering like a spirit,
scrutinised the shut door. He came back to the table, and said in a low
voice:

"It's a great sacrifice."

Old Heythorp smiled.

"Have you signed the deed poll?"

Producing a parchment from his pocket Joe Pillin unfolded it with
caution to disclose his signature, and said:

"I don't like it--it's irrevocable."

A chuckle escaped old Heythorp.

"As death."

Joe Pillin's voice passed up into the treble clef.

"I can't bear irrevocable things. I consider you stampeded me, playing
on my nerves."

Examining the signatures old Heythorp murmured:

"Tell your lawyer to lock it up. He must think you a sad dog, Joe."

"Ah! Suppose on my death it comes to the knowledge of my wife!"

"She won't be able to make it hotter for you than you'll be already."

Joe Pillin replaced the deed within his coat, emitting a queer thin
noise. He simply could not bear joking on such subjects.

"Well," he said, "you've got your way; you always do. Who is this Mrs.
Larne? You oughtn't to keep me in the dark. It seems my boy met her at
your house. You told me she didn't come there."

Old Heythorp said with relish:

"Her husband was my son by a woman I was fond of before I married; her
children are my grandchildren. You've provided for them. Best thing you
ever did."

"I don't know--I don't know. I'm sorry you told me. It makes it all
the more doubtful. As soon as the transfer's complete, I shall get away
abroad. This cold's killing me. I wish you'd give me your recipe for
keeping warm."

"Get a new inside."

Joe Pillin regarded his old friend with a sort of yearning. "And yet,"
he said, "I suppose, with your full-blooded habit, your life hangs by a
thread, doesn't it?"

"A