John Girdlestone had frequently heard his son speak of the major in the days when they had been intimate, and had always attributed some of the young man’s more obvious vices to the effects of this ungodly companionship.  He had also heard from Ezra a mangled version of the interview and quarrel in the private room of Nelson’s Restaurant.  Hence, as may be imagined, his feelings towards his visitor were far from friendly, and he greeted him as he entered with the coldest of possible bows.  The major, however, was by no means abashed by this chilling reception, but stumped forward with beaming face and his pudgy hand outstretched, so that the other had no alternative but to shake it, which he did very gingerly and reluctantly.

“And how are ye?” said the major, stepping back a pace or two, and inspecting the merchant as though he were examining his points with the intention of purchasing him.  “Many’s the time I’ve heard talk of ye.  It’s a real treat to see ye.  How are ye?” Pouncing upon the other’s unresponsive hand, he wrung it again with effusion.

“I am indebted to Providence for fairly good health, sir,” John Girdlestone answered coldly.  “May I request you to take a seat?”

“That was what me friend Fagan was trying to do for twelve years, and ruined himself over it in the ind.  He put up at Murphytown in the Conservative interest, and the divil a vote did he get, except one, and that was a blind man who signed the wrong paper be mistake, Ha! ha!” The major laughed boisterously at his own anecdote, and mopped his forehead with his handkerchief.

The two men, as they stood opposite each other, were a strange contrast, the one tall, grave, white, and emotionless, the other noisy and pompous, with protuberant military chest and rubicund features.  They had one common characteristic, however.  From under the shaggy eyebrows of the merchant and the sparse light-coloured lashes of the major there came the same keen, restless, shifting glance.  Both were crafty, and each was keenly on his guard against the other.

“I have heard of you from my son,” the merchant said, motioning his visitor to a chair.  “You were, I believe, in the habit of meeting together for the purpose of playing cards, billiards, and other such games, which I by no means countenance myself, but to which my son is unhappily somewhat addicted.”

“You don’t play yourself,” said the major, in a sympathetic voice.  “Ged, sir, it’s never too late to begin, and many a man has put in a very comfortable old age On billiards and whist.  Now, if ye feel inclined to make a start, I’ll give ye seventy-five points in a hundred for a commincement.”

“Thank you,” said the merchant drily.  “It is not one of my ambitions.  Was this challenge the business upon which you came?”

The old soldier laughed until his merriment startled the clerks in the counting-house.  “Be jabers!” he said, In a wheezy voice, “d’ye think I came five miles to do that?  No, sir, I wanted to talk to you about your son.”