Charlie, who had been paying a state visit to his mother and sister was just leaving the box and the curtain was just going up.

“Hullo, dad!” said the youth, “you’re the very man I was looking for,” and he drew his father out into the corridor.  “You’ve got two of the finest ballroom dancers I ever saw,” he added to Ozzie.

“Haven’t we!” Ozzie concurred, with faint enthusiasm.

“But the rest of the show ...”  Charlie went on, ruthless.  “Well, if Chown’s shows were only equal to his showmanship...!  Only they aren’t!”

Ozzie raised his eyebrows—­a skilful gesture that at once defended his employer and agreed with Charles.

“By the way, dad, I’ve got a house for you.  I’ve told the mater about it and she’s going to see it to-morrow morning.”

“A house!” Mr. Prohack exclaimed weakly, foreseeing new vistas of worry.  “I’ve got one.  I can’t live in two.”

“But this one’s a house.  You know about it, don’t you, Morfey?”

Ozzie gave a nod and a vague smile.

“See here, dad!  Come out here a minute.”

Ozzie discreetly entered the box and closed the door.

“What is it?” asked Mr. Prohack.

“It’s this,” Charlie replied, handing his parent a cheque.  “I’ve deducted what I paid for you to-night from what you lent me not long since.  I’ve calculated interest on the loan at ten per cent.  You can get ten practically anywhere in these days, worse luck.”

“But I don’t want this, my boy,” Mr. Prohack protested, holding the cheque as he might have held a lady’s handkerchief retrieved from the ground.

“Well, I’m quite sure I don’t,” said Charlie, a little stiffly.

There was a pause.

“As you please,” said Mr. Prohack, putting the cheque—­interest and all—­into his pocket.

“Thanks,” said Charlie.  “Much obliged.  You’re a noble father, and I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if you’ve laid the foundation of my fortunes.  But of course you never know—­in my business.”

“What is your business?” Mr. Prohack asked timidly, almost apologetically.  He had made up his mind on the previous evening that he would talk to Charlie as a father ought to talk to a son, that is to say, like a cross-examining barrister and a moralist combined.  He had decided that it was more than his right—­it was his duty to do so.  But now the right, if not the duty, seemed less plain, and he remembered what he had said to Eve concerning the right attitude of parents to children.  And chiefly he remembered that Charlie was not in his debt.

“I’m a buyer and seller.  I buy for less than I sell for.  That’s how I live.”

“It appears to be profitable.”