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 That kind of thing is dangerous. Phil said it was, and he of course knew. He had two or three hobbies. He thought them necessary for mental and physical equilibrium. It was noticed, however, that Sim's colour—what little he had of it—would come quicker and go quicker when Miss Katie Hewson came to the shop. The wrinkles in his face would make their way into curious crannies, and broaden out into a smile. It was pleasant to see Sim at such times. Then you might be sworn his life was not altogether objectless.

Phil was going along steadily enough at this time—to all appearances, at least. He was earning fairly good wages as a clerk at the Hadlow Brewery, and stuck to his desk with a diligence that surprised and delighted his brother.

One evening, just as the autumn had begun, and the leaves were beginning to fall from the trees, he came in, and did not, as was his wont, stir out again. He chatted away in his careless, free style to Sim; admired the cabinet he had almost finished, which was intended as an exhibit at a forthcoming exhibition in the district, and for "possibilities" afterwards. Phil remarked among other things in keeping with these possibilities, that it would be a handsome addition to Sim's home when he got married, as he supposed he some day would. Sim gave a deprecatory twist of the head, but his face broadened out into one of those queer smiles of his.

Then Phil took three or four energetic puffs at his pipe, watched intently for a minute or so the graceful circlets and wavering outlines of the smoke, and broke out abruptly:

"Sim, old fellow, I know that I am indebted to you for a lot—more than I can ever repay you. Will you help me to wipe it off?"

Sim kept on doggedly at his work. He had heard something like this before.

"Ah, I see you distrust me. Quite right, old fellow. I know that I've given you cause."

Sim put down his tools now, and looked up.

"Don't put it that way, boy"—Phil was only four years younger than Sim, but he still regarded him as a boy—"don't put it that way. Have I ever mistrusted you? I know that you've had your oats to sow. You've sown them, and we've got rid of the bad crop, haven't we? Shake hands on it."

"Right, Sim, right. But will you trust me a little further."

"Out with it, boy."

"I've a scheme in my mind by which I hope to clear off some—all, in fact—of the debt I'm still under to you. Only—and here's the difficult—I want £20 to do it."

"Don't you think anything about the debt that's due to me. Between brothers there's no debt and credit account, and"

"Oh, yes, Sim, I know you; I know your kind heart, God bless you; but I'm not altogether disinterested. My scheme, which is certain to succeed, will make me a more prosperous, a happier man. Now do you see where I am? Will you help me to that?"

Sim thought for a moment. Twenty pounds would clear him out. He had just that amount in hand. He had withdrawn it only that day from the bank—Phil, of course, was unacquainted with that fact—for