is the end of it? Janter--he's the tenant--gave notice last
Michaelmas; but that stupid owl, George, said it was all nothing, and
that he would continue at fifteen shillings when the time came. And
now to-night he comes to me with a face as long as a yard-arm, and
says that Janter won't keep it at any price, and that he does not know
where he is to find another tenant, not he. It's quite heartbreaking,
that's what it is. Three hundred acres of good, sound, food-producing
land, and no tenant for it at fifteen shillings an acre. What am I to
do?"

"Can't you take it in hand and farm it yourself?" asked Harold.

"How can I take it in hand? I have one farm of a hundred and fifty
acres in hand as it is. Do you know what it would cost to take over
that farm?" and he stopped in his walk and struck his stick into the
ground. "Ten pounds an acre, every farthing of it--and say a thousand
for the covenants--about four thousand pounds in all. Now where am I
to get four thousand pounds to speculate with in that way, for it is a
speculation, and one which I am too old to look after myself, even if
I had the knowledge. Well, there you are, and now I'll say good-night,
sir. It's getting chilly, and I have felt my chest for the last year
or two. By-the-way, I suppose I shall see you to-morrow at this tennis
party of Ida's. It's all very well for Ida to go in for her tennis
parties, but how can I think of such things with all this worry on my
hands? Well, good-night, Colonel Quaritch, good-night," and he turned
and walked away through the moonlight.

Harold Quaritch watched him go and then stalked off home, reflecting,
not without sadness, upon the drama which was opening up before him,
that most common of dramas in these days of depression,--the break up