sat in that deep old leather chair; but with fine passivity it yielded
the same comforts to men who only thought they were important.

Just now it was occupied by Mr. Hugh Podmore--within an hour of that
worthy's arrival in the city. At three p.m. his new-found friend,
Philip Kendrick, had agreed to call upon Ferguson to corroborate the
story which Mr. Podmore had just finished telling and to which his
auditor had listened with great intentness, that being the only
indication of surprise which the practiced Mr. Ferguson permitted
himself to exhibit.

"You always were pretty cock-sure of yourself, Poddy, even back in the
days when we both worked on the old _Tribune_," commented Ferguson with
a smirk of amusement. "But this proposition of yours is the
deckle-edged limit and no mistake. If you were anybody else I'd have a
lot of fun--kicking you downstairs!"

"Old stuff, Fergey!" grinned Podmore, unperturbed. "You don't need to
pull that for my benefit. Talk brass tacks. Kendrick will be here in
ten minutes with all the proof you want that I'm handing it to you
straight and that that campaign-fund wad of Nickleby's is where I can
lay hands on it. Do I pass it to you or must I hand it over to Charlie
Cady? Guess the Opposition'll know what to do with it. I'm asking you
this: What's it worth to the Government to win the next election?
That's the little old answer I want."

"Would a couple of million satisfy you? How'll you have it?--in fives
and tens?" and Mr. Ferguson gravely stroked his fleshy red nose.

"Be serious, Fergey," protested Podmore. "You can see for yourself
that I came near getting killed, lining this thing up."

"I could not be more serious if you really had got killed, Poddy," and
again he stroked the emblem of his _entrez_ to the social functions of
John Barleycorn. "I'm afraid your mind is warping in the sunshine of
your own cleverness, Poddy. This fool notion of yours--coming to me
about this money Nickleby's lost--if anybody had told me that once that
long green was in your possession you'd come away back here----"

"What do you take me for, Ferguson?--a thief?" glared Podmore angrily.

"Opportunist is not so harsh a word," soothed the lawyer, thoroughly
enjoying the baiting. He frowned with an abrupt change of manner.
"You want brass tacks, do you? Here they are, then. That money is
none of my business, none of the Government's business. Understand
that clearly. You say it was