Villiers was lounging in one of the chairs, dressed in a white linen
suit, and looked rather respectable, though his inflamed face and
watery eyes showed what a drunkard he was. He was sipping a glass of
whisky and water and smoking his pipe, while he watched Slivers
stumping up and down the office, swinging his cork arm vehemently to
and fro as was his custom when excited. Billy sat on the table and
eyed his master with a steady stare, or else hopped about among the
papers talking to himself.

'You thought you were going to do big things when you sent that
jackadandy out to the Pactolus,' said Villiers, after a pause.

'At any rate, I did something,' snarled Slivers, in a rage, 'which
is more than you did, you whisky barrel.'

'Look here, don't you call names,' growled Mr Villiers, in a sulky
tone. 'I'm a gentleman, remember that.'

'You were a gentleman, you mean,' corrected the senior partner, with
a malignant glance of his one eye. 'What are you now?'

'A stockbroker,' retorted the other, taking a sip of whisky.

'And a damned poor one at that,' replied the other, sitting on the
edge of the table, which position caused his wooden leg to stick
straight out, a result which he immediately utilized by pointing it
threateningly in the direction of Villiers.

'Look here,' said that gentleman, suddenly sitting up in his chair