of this rash saying, for within a week he had offered Macleod £20 for
the dog. He might have offered twenty dozen of £20, and thrown his
polished boots and his gaiters too into the bargain, and he would have
had the same answer.

Oscar was once more banished into the bedroom; and Mr. Ogilvie sat down,
pretending to take no more notice of his boots. Macleod put some sherry
on the table, and a handful of cigars; his friend asked whether he
could not have a glass of seltzer-water and a cigarette.

"And how do you like the rooms I got for you?"

"There is not much fresh air about them, nor in this narrow street,"
Macleod said, frankly; "but that is no matter for I have been out all
day--all over London."

"I thought the price was as high as you would care to go," Ogilvie said;
"but I forgot you had come fresh up, with your pocket full of money. If
you would like something a trifle more princely, I'll put you up to it."

"And where have I got the money? There are no gold mines in the west of
Mull. It is you who are Fortunatus."

"By Jove, if you knew how hard a fellow is run at Aldershot," Mr.
Ogilvie remarked, confidentially, "you would scarcely believe it. Every
new batch of fellows who come in have to be dined all round; and the
mess bills are simply awful. It's getting worse and worse; and then
these big drinks put one off one's work so."

"You are studying hard, I suppose," Macleod said, quite gravely.