At all events, so he thought, and so, as in duty
bound, thought Milly.

He had written to an uncle in India who
he thought would be likely to help him in repaying
Leverson; and he had gone down once
or twice to an old gentleman who had stood
godfather to him in years gone by; but the old
man had grown crusty and suspicious since
those days, and Frank soon found out that there
was a vast difference between a half sovereign
“tip” to a school-boy, and a tip required by a
captain in Her Majesty’s Service.

Still, there were only two months gone yet,
out of the year of grace, and in ten months something
was sure to turn up. “Besides, after
all, if the worst comes to the worst, I can
always exchange.” He said this to himself
though, and not to Milly.

But somehow or other ten months more did
slip by, in a most unaccountable way, and still
he had made no provision towards meeting the
eight hundred pounds owing to Mr. Leverson.

“I shall have to renew; that’s all,” he
thought. “Leverson said he would renew, and
only charge ten per cent.” So the easy-going
fellow went on with his work, as though the
whole thing were settled comfortably.

On the day previous to that on which the
“bill” would fall due, came this letter from
Leverson.

“Dear Sir. As your promissory note which I
hold for eight hundred pounds falls due the
day after you receive this, I shall be glad of a
communication from you as to your wishes with
regard to meeting it.—I am, your obedient
servant,
                                         “J. LEVERSON.
    â€œTo Captain Chester, &c., &c.”

He answered thus:

“Dear Sir. I find it is not quite convenient
to pay off the eight hundred pounds I owe you
just at present. I shall, therefore, be obliged
if you will renew, as you said, at ten per cent for
another year.—Yours, &c.,
                                      â€œFRANK CHESTER.”

By return came the reply:

“Dear Sir. In answer to your favour of
yesterday, I enclose promissory note for eight
hundred and forty-five pounds at six months,
being amount of principal and interest, with
expenses for that time. This you will please
sign and return, and I will remit your original
note cancelled.—Yours, &c.,
                                             “J. LEVERSON.”

To this Frank wrote:

“Sir. I asked you to renew for twelve
months, and should wish that arrangement
carried out. Meanwhile, I enclose the note for
six months, signed as you desired.—Yours,
&c.,
                                   “FRANK CHESTER.”

The capitalist answered:

“Dear Sir. I am sorry I cannot comply
with your wishes. My rule is to renew for six
months certain at ten per cent—a mode of
business practised by no other office in London.
At the expiration of that time I shall be glad
to meet you, should you still require accommodation,
with a view to fresh arrangements.—
Yours, &c.,
                             “J. LEVERSON.”

Enclosed was the first note, and this Frank
locked up in his desk, among other less costly
curiosities already there. Then he sat down
and wrote another letter to his uncle in India,
setting forth his difficulties, and how they had
unavoidably arisen, and entreating him for the
loan of six hundred pounds, to stand at interest
till he should be able to pay it off.

When Milly came in from a walk, and saw
the writing desk in front of her husband, she
knew that he had been writing about the money;
and although she did not ask the question,
Frank understood well enough why the scarlet
feather came brushing against his face, and why
the warm cheek nestled against his own; but
he pretended not to know, and went on scribbling
absurd faces and comical little figures on
the blotting paper, as if his only thought were
to cover it as quickly as possible.

The summer was come again. Strawberries
and cream had given in to cherries, and cherries
were beginning to look foolish beside the rosy-cheeked
apples, when the long-expected letter
from Uncle John arrived.

Milly and her husband were sitting in the
little arbour at the end of their garden, watching
the efforts of the baby to make a clean frock
dirty: in which it succeeded admirably, considering
its limited understanding and the general
lack of available dirt.

For a few minutes the letter lay on the table
unopened, both fearing to know its fate; then
Milly, as the bolder of the two, snatched it up,
and breaking it open, read as follows:

“Dear Nephew. I am sorry to find you
have commenced so early in life to run into
debt. When at your age, I did the same, and
have not paid all off yet. However, as my sister
Mary’s only child, I cannot leave you altogether
in the lurch. I, therefore, enclose a bill
for a portion of the sum you mention, to be
applied to the reduction of your debt. I am
writing this in my ‘kutcherry,’ where the
thermometer stands at ninety-six, so you must excuse
brevity.—Your affectionate uncle,
                                            â€œJOHN PARNELL.”

Enclosed was a bill on the Oriental Bank for
four hundred pounds. A bright pink slip of
paper, all flourishes and watermarks, which
Milly thought the prettiest thing she had ever
seen.

“Oh, Frank, dear, I’m so glad! How kind
of Uncle John, is it not? And now there
is only two hundred pounds left to pay off,