illar, an agreeable gossip, because he condemned nothing
except dirt and low breeding, told John that Beaumont-Greene was losing
many shekels. And about the middle of October Caesar said to John--

"What do you think, old Jonathan? I've jolly nearly paid off the Demon.
And you wanted me to chuck the thing. Nice sort of counsellor."

"Beaumont-Greene must have lost a pot?"

"You bet," said Caesar; "but that doesn't keep me awake at night. He has
got the _Imperishable Seamless Whaleskin Boot_ behind him."

Next time John met Beaumont-Greene he eyed him sharply. The big fellow
was pulpier than ever; his complexion the colour of skilly. Yes; he
looked much worried. Perhaps the "Imperishable Boot" lasted too long.
And, nowadays, so many fellows wore shoes. Thus John to himself.

Beaumont-Greene, indeed, not only looked worried, he was worried,
hideously worried, and with excellent reason. He had an absurdly,
wickedly, large allowance, but not more than a sovereign of it was left.
More, he owed Scaife twenty pounds, and Lovell another ten. Both these
young gentlemen had hinted plainly that they wanted to see their money.

"I must have the stuff now," said Lovell, when Beaumont-Greene asked for
time. "I'm going to shoot a lot this Christmas, and the governor makes
me pay for my cartridges."

"So does mine," said Scaife, grinning. He was quite indifferent to the
money, but he liked to see Beaumont-Greene squirm. He continued suavely,
"You ought to settle before you leave. Ain't your people in Rome? Yes.
And you're going to join 'em. Why, hang it, some Dago may stick a knife
into you, and where should we be then--hey? Your governor wouldn't
settle a gambling debt, would he?"

This was too true. Scaife grinned diabolically. He knew that
Beaumont-Greene's father was endeavouring to establish a credit-account
with the Recording Angel. Originally a Nonconformist, he had joined the
Church of England after he had made his fortune (cf. _Shavings from the
Workshops of our Merchant Princes_, which appeared in the pages of
"Prattle"). Then, the famous inventor of the Imperishable Boot had taken
to endowing churches; and he published pamphlets denouncing drink and
gambling, pamphlets sent to his son at Harrow, who (with an eye to
backsheesh) had praised his sire's prose somewhat indiscreetly.

"You shall have your confounded money," said Beaumont-Greene, violently.

"Thanks," said Scaife, sweetly. "When we asked you to join us" (s