said the 'Bishop,' thinking of Dick.

"Well, sir," continued the parson, "I'm told that money can work
miracles in this country. And, by God! if my money can sent you to
gaol, you shall go there, as sure as my name is George Carteret."

"All right," said the 'Bishop.' "I--er--I don't blame you. I think
you're behaving with great moderation."

"Moderation! Confound it! sir, are you laughing at me?"

"The Lord forbid!" ejaculated Crisp.

"Men have been shot for less than this."

"There's a pistol in that drawer," said the 'Bishop' wearily. "You can
shoot if you want to. Your money can put me into gaol, as you say, and
keep you out of it, if--if you use that pistol."

Mr. Carteret stared. The 'Bishop' was beginning to puzzle him. He
stared still harder, and the 'Bishop' blushed; an awkward habit that
he had never rid himself of. Now a country parson, who is also a
magistrate, becomes in time a shrewd judge of men.

"Will you kindly send for my--for your partner?" he said suddenly.
"Please sit or stand where you are. I think you'll admit that I have a
right to conduct this inquiry in my own way."

Accordingly, Dick was sent for, and soon he took his stand beside the
'Bishop,' facing the flaming blue eyes of his father. Then Mr.
Carteret asked him point blank the questions he had put to the other,
and received the _same_ answers, the 'Bishop' entering an
inarticulate demurrer.

"It appears," said Mr. Carteret, "that there are two ways of telling
this story. One of you, possibly, has told the truth; the other has
unquestionably lied. I confess," he added dryly, "that my sympathies
are with the liar. He is the honester man."

"Yes," said Dick. "I'm about as big a blackguard as you'll find
anywhere, but I'm your son all the same. Father--forgive me."

One must confess that Dick played his last trump in a masterly
fashion. He knew that whining wouldn't avail him, or any puling
hypocrisy. So he told the truth.

"Is that what you want?" said the father sarcastically. "Only that: my
forgiveness and my blessing?"

Dick's bold eyes fell beneath this thrust.

"The man who drove me here," continued the father, "told me a curious
story. It seems that Mr. Crisp here has toiled and moiled for many
years, keeping you in comparative luxury and idleness. Not a word,
sir. It's an open secret. For some occult reason he likes to pay this
price for your company. Having supported you so long, I presume he is
prepared to support