d.

"Until my dividends are due. I've been speculating, and I'm afraid I
haven't a head for business."

"I'm afraid you haven't," grinned Sypher, leaning over the footrail of the
bed. "Next time you speculate come to me first for advice. Let me be your
agent for these guns, will you?"

"I should be delighted," said Septimus, "and for the railway carriages too.
There's also a motor car I've invented which goes by clockwork. You've got
to wind it by means of a donkey engine. It's quite simple."

"I should think it would be," said Sypher drily. "But I'll only take on the
guns just for the present."

He drew a check book from one pocket and a fountain pen from another.

"I'll advance you two hundred pounds for the sole right to deal with the
thing on your behalf. My solicitors will send you a document full of
verbiage which you had better send off to your solicitor to look through
before you sign it. It will be all right. I'm going to take the proofs. Of
course this stops publishing," he remarked, looking round from the
dressing-table where he was writing the check.

Septimus assented and took the check wonderingly, remarking that he didn't
in the least know what it was for.

"For the privilege of making your fortune. Good-by," said he. "Don't get
up."

"Good night," said Septimus, and the door having closed behind Clem Sypher,
he thrust the check beneath the bedclothes, curled himself up and went to
sleep like a dormouse.

CHAPTER VIII

Clem Sypher stood at the front door of Penton Court a day or two
afterwards, awaiting his guests and taking the air. The leaves of the oaks
that lined the drive fell slowly under the breath of a southwest wind, and
joined their sodden brethren on the path. The morning mist still hung
around the branches. The sky threatened rain.

A servant came from within the house, bringing a telegram on a tray. Sypher
opened it, and his strong, pink face became as overcast as the sky. It was
from the London office of the Cure, and contained the information that one
of his largest buyers had reduced his usual order by half. The news was
depressing. So was the prospect before him, of dripping trees and of
evergreens on the lawn trying to make the best of it in forlorn bravery.
Heaven had ordained that the earth should be fair and Sypher's Cure
invincible. Something was curiously wrong in the execution of Heaven's
decrees. He looked again at the preposterous statement, knitting his bro