“Humph! and what are you doing then?  Living on the old man again?”

“Never you mind, David Chalker,” replied Joe with dignity; “I am not likely to trouble you any more after the last time I called upon you.”

“Well, Joe,” said the other, without taking offense, “it is not my business to lend money without a security, and all you had to offer was your chance of what your grandfather might leave you—­or might not.”

“And a very good security too, if he does justice to his relations.”

“Yes; but how did I know whether he was going to do justice?  Come, Joe, don’t be shirty with an old friend.”

There was a cordiality in the solicitor’s manner which boded well.  Joe was pretty certain that Mr. Chalker was not a man to cultivate friendship unless something was to be got out of it.  It is only the idle and careless who can waste time over unprofitable friendships.  With most men friendship means assisting in each other’s little games, so that every man must become, on occasion, bonnet, confederate, and pal, for his friend, and may expect the same kindly office for himself.

If Chalker wished to keep up his old acquaintance with Joe Gallop, there must be some good reason.  Now the only reason which suggested itself to Joe at that moment was that Chalker had lately drawn a new will for the old man, and that he himself might be in it.  Here he was wrong.  The only reason of Mr. Chalker’s friendly attitude was curiosity to know what Joe was doing, and how he was living.

“Look here, Chalker,” Joe whispered, “you used to pretend to be a pal.  What’s the good of being a pal if you won’t help a fellow?  You see my grandfather once a week or so; you shut the door and have long talks with him.  If you know what he’s going to do with his money, why not tell a fellow?  Let’s make a business matter of it.”

“How much do you know, Joe, and what is your business proposal worth?”

“Nothing at all; that’s the honest truth—­I know nothing.  The old man’s as tight as wax.  But there’s other business in the world besides his.  Suppose I know of something a precious sight better than his investments, and suppose—­just suppose—­that I wanted a lawyer to manage it for me?”

“Well, Joe?”

“Encore!  Bravo!  Encore!  Bravo!” Joe banged his stick on the floor and shouted because the singer ended her first song.  He looked so fierce and big, that all the bystanders made haste to follow his example.

“Splendid, isn’t she?” he said.

“Hang the singer!  What do you mean by other business?”

“Perhaps it’s nothing.  Perhaps there will be thousands in it.  And perhaps I can get on without you, after all.”

“Very well, Joe.  Get on without me if you like.”

“Look here, Chalker,” Joe laid a persuasive hand on the other’s arm, “can’t we two be friendly?  Why don’t you give a fellow a lift?  All I want to know is where the old man’s put his money, and how he’s left it.”