by a judicious use of what
he now heard he might obtain the payment of that little bill,--and
perhaps other collateral advantages.

And then the letter from Dockwrath to Kenneby was brought forth and
read. "My dear John," it began,--for the two had known each other
when they were lads together,--and it went on to request Kenneby's
attendance at Hamworth for the short space of a few hours,--"I want
to have a little conversation with you about a matter of considerable
interest to both of us; and as I cannot expect you to undertake
expense I enclose a money order for thirty shillings."

"He's in earnest at any rate," said Mr. Moulder.

"No mistake about that," said Snengkeld.

But Mr. Kantwise spoke never a word.

It was at last decided that John Kenneby should go both to Hamworth
and to Bedford Row, but that he should go to Hamworth first. Moulder
would have counselled him to have gone to neither, but Snengkeld
remarked that there were too many at work to let the matter sleep,
and John himself observed that "anyways he hadn't done anything to be
ashamed of."

"Then go," said Moulder at last, "only don't say more than you are
obliged to."

"I does not like these business talkings on Christmas night," said
Mrs. Moulder, when the matter was arranged.

"What can one do?" asked Moulder.

"It's a tempting of Providence in my mind," said Kantwise, as he
replenished his glass, and turned his eyes up to the ceiling.

"Now that's gammon," said Moulder. And then there arose among them a
long and animated discussion on matters theological.

"I'll tell you what my idea of death is," said Moulder, after a
while. "I ain't a bit afeard of it. My father was an honest man as
did his duty by his employers, and he died with a bottom of brandy
before him and a pipe in his mouth. I sha'n't live long myself--"

"Gracious, Moulder, don't!" said Mrs. M.

"No, more I sha'n't, 'cause I'm fat as he was; and I hope I may die
as he did. I've been honest to Hubbles and Grease. They've made
thousands of pounds along of me, and have never lost none. Who can
say more than that? When I took to the old girl there, I insured my
life, so that she shouldn't want her wittles and drink--"

"Oh, M., don't!"

"And I ain't afeard to die. Snengkeld, my old pal, hand us the
brandy."

Such is the modern philosophy of the Moulders, pigs out of the sty
of Epicurus. And so it was they passed Christmas-day in Great St.
Helens.

CHAPTER XXV