word, Mr. Chester; as a friend of Captain Esdale’s,
three or six months, and renew as often
as you please; that’s my way of doing business
—money down, and no questions. Allow me
to offer you a glass of sherry.” He pushed the
decanter across.

Frank helped himself, and stammered out that
he wanted six hundred pounds for the purchase
of his company; as to repayment, he hoped to
repay within the year, either by exchange or
through his friends.

“Six hundred!” said the capitalist, his smile
growing a shade colder; “certainly, and for
so laudable an object! It’s a certainty, my dear
Mr. Chester; companies are rising every day.
You’ll make money by it, mark my words;
you’ll make money, sir.” He touched a handbell
on the table.

“Bring the cheque-book, Henry,” to the boy,
who answered the summons, “and fill in a blank
cheque for six hundred. Mr. Chester, I’m sure
your security is undeniable; excuse my mentioning
it; merely a matter of form.”

“Security!” stammered Frank. “Why, I
thought—at least Captain Esdale told me that
you—”

“My dear sir,” said Mr. Leverson, leaning
forward and speaking earnestly, “don’t say
another word. I quite understand, perfectly
so; a little matter of expectancy—of waiting
—precisely so. May I ask Mr. Chester’s
age?”

“Mr. Chester?”

“The gentleman who has the honour to be
your father.”

“My father died when I was a child. I have
neither father nor mother.”

“Dear me, very sad. Then you have really
no expectations?”

“None.”

“And no security at all to offer?”

“None, except my commission.”

“Perhaps you have some friends who would
lend their names, just for form’s sake; Captain
Esdale for instance; makes it come so much
lighter, you see.”

Frank shook his head. “No, Mr. Leverson,
I can’t ask it. I want the money, and will pay
for it. I can give you a hold on my commission
as captain, which is surely enough. More
than that, I cannot give!”

“The terms will be a little high, Mr. Chester,
but I can let you have the money.”

The boy entered with the cheque-book. The
capitalist signed the filled-up cheque, tore it out
of the book, gave the book to the boy again,
and the boy disappeared.

“If I understand you, Mr. Chester, you want
the sum of six hundred pounds on the security
of your commission—a security, I may at once
tell you, that is worth but little, as such.”

“How do you make that out? It’s worth
one thousand eight hundred pounds, without
what I can get over regulation.”

“Exactly so; but in the event of your
death or, pardon me, your dismissal from the
service?”

“My friends would pay you!” said Chester,
indignantly.

“Will they put that on stamped paper?”

“I haven’t asked them.”

“You may have previous liens on your
commission.”

“None, on my honour!”

“Pardon me; I only said, might. We are
talking business, now. I merely wished to
show you the weakness of your security, as
such; nothing more. Here is a cheque for six
hundred pounds; here is a promissory note at
twelve months, to repay me the sum of eight
hundred pounds, value received; and here is a
paper authorising me to deduct that amount,
with interest, from your commission money,
should you sell out.”

“Why, it’s over thirty per cent!” gasped
Frank.

“Thirty-three pounds six shillings and eight
pence per cent per annum, exactly. Levi opposite
would charge you fifty. If you can’t pay
the money at the twelve months’ end, you can
renew at ten per cent—a mere bagatelle. Exchanges
are going at six hundred now. There’s
no fear of your not being able to pay it, long
before it falls due.”

Frank considered for a moment. If he failed
to obtain the money, his character in the regiment
would be affected, as a man who had put
down for purchase, without the means to do so.
On the other hand, the fact of becoming a captain
was a great fact; an exchange would make
it all right; and regiments now remained so short
a time abroad, that it would be easy to leave
Milly and the baby at home while he went
out.

“Well, Mr. Chester, shall I give you the
cheque?”

Frank held out his hand, and the treacherous
slip of paper was his own. He hurriedly signed
what was laid before him for his signature,
and, wishing the capitalist “good morning,”
clapped his hat on, and burst out of the room
into the open air.

When he opened his garden gate in the evening,
Milly ran out to meet him, all blue ribbons
and muslin.

“Well, dearest? Have you got it?”

“Yes, Milly, it’s all right,” he replied, kissing
her. But he did not tell her what he was
to pay for it.

“Oh, I’m so glad, you dear old captain!”
And Milly clapped her hands and ran in to order
dinner, while Frank went up to dress.

In the next Friday’s Gazette appeared the
following: “111th Regiment, Lieutenant
Francis Chester to be captain, by purchase, vice
Esdale, who retires.”

After this, all went on again in the usual
routine. Frank found his duties much lighter
than before, and more pleasant; he was able
to devote more time to Milly; he had not to
go on those dreadful “guards,” which used to
keep him all night and part of two days. In
short, there could be no possible doubt about
it; he had done a very wise and sensible thing.