elf and be done with
it!") Out of sheer pique Tilly had twice now accepted old Mr. Ocock's
invitation to drive with him. Once, she had returned with a huge bag of
lollies; and once, with a face like a turkey-cock. Polly couldn't help
thinking ... no, really, Richard, she could not! ... that perhaps
something might COME of it. He should not laugh; just wait and see.

Many inquiries had been made after him. People had missed their doctor,
it seemed, and wanted him back. It was a real red-letter day when he
could snap to the catches of his gloves again, and mount the step of a
buggy.

He had instructed Purdy to arrange for the hire of this vehicle,
saddle-work being out of the question for him in the meantime. And on
his first long journey--it led him past Doyle's hut, now, he was sorry
to see, in the hands of strangers; for the wife, on the way to making a
fair recovery, had got up too soon, overtaxed her strength and died,
and the broken-hearted husband was gone off no one knew where--on this
drive, as mile after mile slid from under the wheels, Mahony felt how
grateful was the screen of a hood between him and the sun.

While he was laid up, the eternal question of how to live on his income
had left him, relatively speaking, in peace. He had of late adopted the
habit of doing his scraping and saving at the outset of each quarter,
so as to get the money due to Ocock put by betimes. His illness had
naturally made a hole in this; and now the living from hand to mouth
must begin anew.

With what remained of Doyle's money he proposed to settle his account
at the livery-stable. Then the unexpected happened. His
reappearance--he looked very thin and washed-out--evidently jogged a
couple of sleepy memories. Simultaneously two big bills were paid, one
of which he had entirely given up. In consequence, he again found
himself fifty pounds to the good. And driving to Ocock's office, on
term day, he resolved to go on afterwards to the Bank of Australasia
and there deposit this sum.

Grindle, set off by a pair of flaming "sideboards," himself ushered
Mahony into the sanctum, and the affair was disposed of in a trice.
Ocock was one of the busiest of men nowadays--he no longer needed to
invent sham clients and fictitious interviews--and he utilised the few
odd minutes it took to procure a signature, jot down a note, open a
drawer, unlock a tin box to remark abstractedly on the weather and put
a polite inquiry: "And your good lady?