ce, so he gulped down his, whisky and
waited.

"It's no use craning at a blind fence," continued Dick. "Sooner or
later we all come to the jumping-off place. I've come to it to-night.
You can give me a decent funeral--the governor will stump up for that
--and there will be pickings for you. You can read the service,
'Bishop.' Gad! I'd like to see you in a surplice."

"Please, don't," pleaded the Rev. Tudor.

"He'll be good for a hundred sovs.," continued Dick. "You can do the
thing handsomely for half that."

"For God's sake, shut up."

"Pooh! why shouldn't you have your fee? That hundred would start us
nicely in the saloon business, and----"

He was walking up and down the dusty, dirty floor. Now he stopped, and
his eyes brightened; but Crisp noted that his hands trembled.

"Give me that whisky," he muttered. "I want it now."

The 'Bishop' handed him his glass. Dick drained it, and laughed.

"Don't," said the 'Bishop' for the third time. Dick laughed again, and
slapped him on the shoulder. Then the smile froze on his lips, and he
spoke grimly.

"What does the apostle say--hey? We must die to live. A straight tip!
Well--! I shall obey the apostolic injunction gladly. I'm going to die
to-night. Don't jump like that, you old ass; let me finish. I'm going
to die to-night, but you and I are going into the saloon business all
the same. Yes, my boy, and we'll tend bar ourselves, and keep our eyes
on the till, and have our own bottle of the best, and be perfect
gentlemen. Come on, let's drink to my resurrection. Here's to the man
who was, and is, and is to be."

"You're a wonder," replied the 'Bishop' fervently. "I understand. You
mean to be your own undertaker."

"I do, my lord. Now give me the baccy, some ink and paper, and an
hour's peace."

But the hour passed and found Dick still composing. The 'Bishop'
watched his friend with spaniel-like patience. At last the scribe
flung down his pen, and read aloud, as follows--

"The Rectory, San Lorenzo,

"_September 1,_

"To the Rev. George Carteret.

"Dear Sir,--I beg to advise you, with sincere regret on my part, of
the sudden demise of your son, Richard Beaumont Carteret, who died at
my house just three days ago of heart failure, quite painlessly. You
will find enclosed the doctor's certificate, the coroner's report, and
the undertaker's bill _paid and receipted_.

"I had a very honest friendship for your son, although I deplored a
misspent youth. But I