"Hush, hush, Jenny!" said he. "There,
you have set the babies off;" as indeed she had.
"God bless us, and God help us too," he added,
scraping his chin with a dismal perplexity.

The "babies" were in full chorus, and could
only be appeased by his playing "Teddy the
Grinder," accompanied by grotesque steps,
which gradually interested his listeners, and
finally produced loud acclamations of joy.

"That's a jolly tune," said the canon, tuning
his fiddle on his knee, and laying his ear to it
to catch the "accord."  "That's an old Italian
violin, and you'd hardly believe what I got it
for.  Fourteen shillings, as I'm a lay canon,
though I mayn't be able to say that long."

"Well, about Black Dick?" said Mr. Tilney,
ruefully.

"Why, I was down at the Rooms, you know,
knocking the balls about, last night, when I
heard a row in the street, and ran out just as I
am now—in puris, I may say, saving your
presence—with a cue in one hand and my tumbler
in the other. The noise had gone by, or there
had been no noise, or I might have mistaken the
whole thing. But I could see nothing. Spottiswood,
who was there, came out too, and, as a sort
of bagman was passing, I said to him, 'Spottiswood,
I believe this old cock was at the bottom
of it all !' As I live, I only meant a joke, and no
more knew who it was, beyond a bagman, than
the child unborn. There ! What d'ye say, Tilney,
to its turning out to be Black Dick, sneaking
home ? Was there ever such luck, Tilney?  And
I declare he stopped and looked me full in the
face, and said, 'Very well, Mr. Norbury. This
makes the climax of the scandal.' Those were
his very words, 'Climax of the scandal.' And I
answered him at once, 'Climax it away, Black
Dick, and welcome!' But I am afraid he has
us this time. Goose cooked, eh, Tilney?"

He looked at him wistfully, and again scratched
the broad yellow shining forehead. Mr. Tilney,
really moved, shook his head.

The pale wife again struck in: "O, sir!  Mr.
Tilney! what is to be done for us?  Do ask
Joey to go up to him and beg his pardon."

"Now, Jenny, none of that. We must only
all take tickets for the workhouse."

An elder child, who had learnt the significance
of this dreaded name, broke into a subdued cry.
Its brethren, always ready to support a member
of their order on whatever occasion, followed
heartily, and in a moment their father was
jocularly and with great spirit playing "Teddy
the Grinder," and with the happiest etfect.

"But," said he, stopping suddenly in his
music, "there's another thing. Look here.
There's brown paper, sir!" And he showed
the broken corners of one of the children's little
shoes. "Every one of them about the same,
isn't it, Jenny?"

"Nothing," said she, piteously, "between
their little feet and the ground; nothing."

"And there's Jackey," he went on, hopelessly
scratching his bald crown with the "scroll" of
his violin, "with only a rag of a great-coat to go
out in. The creature's famished. It's all got
into a wisp; and no wonder, he's been wearing
it these three years, and it was a cheap thing
then.  And there's the little joint for to-day. It's
coming, but the fellow is to be paid on leaving it.
I am going down now to the Rooms, to pick up a
couple of half-crowns, if I can, over 'the balls.'"

The canon's coat was then brought to him,
and the two gentlemen set forth, interchanging
their troubles.

"I'll tell you what," said Mr. Norbury, "I
don't think this thing may be as bad as Jenny
makes out. How was I to know him in the
dark? I hear he's off to London to-night
for his daughter's wedding, and that'll drive
it all out of his head. But I was thinking,
Tilney, we might screw something out of Smiles
and the bank. If I was you, I wouldn't be bullied
and be made to sit mum there, by that fellow.
Tillotson is above him, and if he knew this, I'll
swear he'd press 'em all to their trumps."

"Ah, of course," said his friend; "but you
know it's wearisome always struggling with a
low fellow; you only dirty your fingers."

"But you can clean them again, Tilney. Now,
what I was thinking was, as he won't 'do' your
paper, why shouldn't he do mine?  I can get a
name, you can give yours, and we'll share, eh?
I must have something to go on with. They'll
have the security of my pay, you know——"

"I tell you what," said Mr. Tilney, "we're
going to give that fellow a little dinner—a snug
thing, you know—just to put him in good
humour. You shall come to us. In fact, the
card's gone to him."

"Suppose we draw him now?"

"Well, suppose we do," said Mr. Tilney.

They found the secretary behind a desk.
"Very busy now," said he, dryly ; "can't talk
to you at present, Mr. Tilney; make an appointment."

"Just two words in private. Really, now,"
remonstrated Mr. Tilney; "sent up a note to
your house—a little dinner. Really, now——"

"Mrs. Smiles will look to that. It's not fair,
I must say. Just post time, and closing up.
Well, step in here, then. Now, Mr. Tilney?"

Then Mr. Tilney introduced his friend—a
canon in the cathedral—who wanted
"accommodation"—ninety pounds—good names, his
own included. There would be no objection to
that, he supposed?

Mr. Smiles examined the production, and put
a few searching questions. The fact was,
accommodation-bills were not their line; they
wanted good trading-bills, drawn in the regular
course of business. However, let him leave it,
and they would see in the morning.

"Very well. God bless you, Smiles. We'll
hope to see you on Sunday."

The next morning, to the surprise of both
gentlemen, Mr. Smiles received them with a
grudging civility, and told Mr. Norbury that
his bill would be cashed in proper form. That
morning, too, Mrs. Tilney had received a note
from Mrs. Smiles, saying she would have much
pleasure in accepting her kind invitation to
dinner. These acceptances, both of bill and