"Yes, at my request."

"You mean for your indorsement on the bill?" the lad exclaimed,
blushing. "Vic, you're a trump. You're the best fellow that ever lived,
and I can't tell you how grateful I am. God only knows what a weight
you've lifted from my mind. I'm going to run steady after this, and with
economy I can save enough out of my allowance--"

"My dear boy, you are wasting your gratitude over a trifle. Could I
refuse so simple a favor to a friend?"

"I don't know any one else who would have done as much, Vic. I was in an
awful hole. Will--will they give me plenty of time?"

"As much as you like. And, I say, Bertie, this affair must be quite
_entre nous_. There are plenty of chaps--good fellows, too--who would
like to use my name occasionally. But one must draw the line--"

"I understand, Vic. I'll be mum as an oyster."

"Well, suppose we go and have the thing over," said Nevill, "and then
we'll lunch together."

They turned eastward, walking briskly, and a few minutes later they
entered a narrow court off Duke street, St. James. Through a dingy and
unpretentious doorway, unmarked by sign or plate, they passed into the
premises of Benjamin and Company. In a dark, cramped office, scantily
furnished, they found an elderly Jewish gentleman seated at a desk.

Without delay, with a smoothness that spoke well for the weight and