"You're not going to keep on at this water-side work, I suppose?" said
Hardy, making another effort to give the conversation a serious turn.

"The foreman doesn't think so," replied the other, as he helped himself
to some whisky; "he has made several remarks to that effect lately."

He leaned back in his chair and smoked thoughtfully, by no means
insensible to the comfort of his surroundings. He had not been in such
comfortable quarters since he left home seven years before. He thought
of the untidy litter of the Kybirds' back parlour, with the forlorn view
of the yard in the rear. Something of his reflections he confided to
Hardy as he rose to leave.

"But my market value is about a pound a week," he concluded, ruefully,
"so I must cut my coat to suit my cloth. Good-night."

He walked home somewhat soberly at first, but the air was cool and fresh
and a glorious moon was riding in the sky. He whistled cheerfully, and
his spirits rose as various chimerical plans of making money occurred to
him. By the time he reached the High Street, the shops of which were all
closed for the night, he was earning five hundred a year and spending a
thousand. He turned the handle of the door and, walking in, discovered
Miss Kybird entertaining company in the person of Mr. Edward Silk.

"Halloa," he said, airily, as he took a seat. "Don't mind me, young
people. Go on just as you would if I were not here."

Mr. Edward Silk grumbled something under his breath; Miss Kybird, turning
to the intruder with a smile of welcome, remarked that she had just