"Look here! It's half price to a poor man. If you feel like coming back,
on your own account--five pounds will do from _you_. There! there! Think
of it!--think of it!"

"Now, then!" said Mr. Troy, waiting for his companion, with the door
open in his hand. He looked back at Sharon when Moody joined him. The
old vagabond was settled again in his armchair, with his dog in his
lap, his pipe in his mouth, and his French novel in his hand; exhibiting
exactly the picture of frowzy comfort which he had presented when his
visitors first entered the room.

"Good-day," said Mr. Troy, with haughty condescension.

"Don't interrupt me!" rejoined Old Sharon, absorbed in his novel.
"You've had your guinea's worth. Lord! what a lovely book this is! Don't
interrupt me!"

"Impudent scoundrel!" said Mr. Troy, when he and Moody were in the
street again. "What could my friend mean by recommending him? Fancy his
expecting me to trust him with ten pounds! I consider even the guinea
completely thrown away."

"Begging your pardon, sir," said Moody, "I don't quite agree with you
there."

"What! you don't mean to tell me you understand that oracular sentence
of his--'Suspect the very last person on whom suspicion could possibly
fall.' Rubbish!"