on the morrow a light but solid two-wheeled cart; so that when

they entered in their new character, they were able to tell
themselves that the back of the business was already broken.

John proceeded to get tea; while Morris, foraging about the
house, was presentlydelighted by discovering the lid of the

water-butt upon the kitchen shelf. Here, then, was the
packing-case complete; in the absence of straw, the blankets

(which he himself, at least, had not the smallest intention of
using for their present purpose) would exactly take the place of

packing; and Morris, as the difficulties began to vanish from his
path, rose almost to the brink of exultation. There was, however,

one difficulty not yet faced, one upon which his whole scheme
depended. Would John consent to remain alone in the cottage? He

had not yet dared to put the question.
It was with high good-humour that the pair sat down to the deal

table, and proceeded to fall-to on the pork pie. Morris retailed
the discovery of the lid, and the Great Vance was pleased to

applaud by beating on the table with his fork in true music-hall
style.

'That's the dodge,' he cried. 'I always said a water-butt was
what you wanted for this business.'

'Of course,' said Morris, thinking this a favourable opportunity
to prepare his brother, 'of course you must stay on in this place

till I give the word; I'll give out that uncle is resting in the
New Forest. It would not do for both of us to appear in London;

we could never conceal the absence of the old man.'
John's jaw dropped.

'O, come!' he cried. 'You can stay in this hole yourself. I
won't.'

The colour came into Morris's cheeks. He saw that he must win his
brother at any cost.

'You must please remember, Johnny,' he said, 'the amount of the
tontine. If I succeed, we shall have each fifty thousand to place

to our bank account; ay, and nearer sixty.'
'But if you fail,' returned John, 'what then? What'll be the

colour of our bank account in that case?'
'I will pay all expenses,' said Morris, with an inward struggle;

'you shall lose nothing.'
'Well,' said John, with a laugh, 'if the ex-s are yours, and

half-profits mine, I don't mind remaining here for a couple of
days.'

'A couple of days!' cried Morris, who was beginning to get angry
and controlled himself with difficulty; 'why, you would do more

to win five pounds on a horse-race!'
'Perhaps I would,' returned the Great Vance; 'it's the artistic

temperament.'
'This is monstrous!' burst out Morris. 'I take all risks; I pay

all expenses; I divide profits; and you won't take the slightest
pains to help me. It's not decent; it's not honest; it's not even

kind.'
'But suppose,' objected John, who was considerably impressed by

his brother's vehemence, 'suppose that Uncle Masterman is alive
after all, and lives ten years longer; must I rot here all that

time?'
'Of course not,' responded Morris, in a more conciliatory tone;

'I only ask a month at the outside; and if Uncle Masterman is not
dead by that time you can go abroad.'

'Go abroad?' repeated John eagerly. 'Why shouldn't I go at once?
Tell 'em that Joseph and I are seeing life in Paris.'

'Nonsense,' said Morris.
'Well, but look here,' said John; 'it's this house, it's such a

pig-sty, it's so dreary and damp. You said yourself that it was
damp.'

'Only to the carpenter,' Morris distinguished, 'and that was to
reduce the rent. But really, you know, now we're in it, I've seen

worse.'
'And what am I to do?' complained the victim. 'How can I

entertain a friend?'
'My dear Johnny, if you don't think the tontine worth a little

trouble, say so, and I'll give the business up.'
'You're dead certain of the figures, I suppose?' asked John.

'Well'--with a deep sigh--'send me the Pink Un and all the comic
papers regularly. I'll face the music.'

As afternoon drew on, the cottage breathed more thrillingly of
its native marsh; a creeping chill inhabited its chambers; the

fire smoked, and a shower of rain, coming up from the channel on
a slant of wind, tingled on the window-panes. At intervals, when

the gloom deepened toward despair, Morris would produce the
whisky-bottle, and at first John welcomed the diversion--not for

long. It has been said this spirit was the worst in Hampshire;
only those acquainted with the county can appreciate the force of

that superlative; and at length even the Great Vance (who was no
connoisseur) waved the decoction from his lips. The approach of

dusk, feebly combated with a single tallow candle, added a touch
of tragedy; and John suddenly stopped whistling through his

fingers--an art to the practice of which he had been reduced--and
bitterly lamented his concessions.

'I can't stay here a month,' he cried. 'No one could. The thing's
nonsense, Morris. The parties that lived in the Bastille would

rise against a place like this.'
With an admirable affectation of indifference, Morris proposed a

game of pitch-and-toss. To what will not the diplomatist
condescend! It was John's favourite game; indeed his only

game--he had found all the rest too intellectual--and he played
it with equal skill and good fortune. To Morris himself, on the

other hand, the whole business was detestable; he was a bad
pitcher, he had no luck in tossing, and he was one who suffered

torments when he lost. But John was in a dangerous humour, and
his brother was prepared for any sacrifice.

By seven o'clock, Morris, with incredible agony, had lost a
couple of half-crowns. Even with the tontine before his eyes,

this was as much as he could bear; and, remarking that he would
take his revenge some other time, he proposed a bit of supper and

a grog.
Before they had made an end of this refreshment it was time to be

at work. A bucket of water for present necessities was withdrawn
from the water-butt, which was then emptied and rolled before the

kitchen fire to dry; and the two brothers set forth on their
adventure under a starless heaven.

CHAPTER III. The Lecturer at Large
Whether mankind is really partial to happiness is an open

question. Not a month passes by but some cherished son runs off
into the merchant service, or some valued husband decamps to

Texas with a lady help; clergymen have fled from their
parishioners; and even judges have been known to retire. To an

open mind, it will appear (upon the whole) less strange that
Joseph Finsbury should have been led to entertain ideas of

escape. His lot (I think we may say) was not a happy one. My
friend, Mr Morris, with whom I travel up twice or thrice a week

from Snaresbrook Park, is certainly a gentleman whom I esteem;
but he was scarce a model nephew. As for John, he is of course an

excellent fellow; but if he was the only link that bound one to a
home, I think the most of us would vote for foreign travel. In

the case of Joseph, John (if he were a link at all) was not the
only one; endearing bonds had long enchained the old gentleman to

Bloomsbury; and by these expressions I do not in the least refer
to Julia Hazeltine (of whom, however, he was fond enough), but to

that collection of manuscript notebooks in which his life lay
buried. That he should ever have made up his mind to separate

himself from these collections, and go forth upon the world with