“Oh, you have sold part of the paper already, have you?  How do you know your friend will consent to be bought out?  That complicates matters.”

“My friend only did it to oblige me; he is only too anxious to be bought out.  He is in a fearful funk lest he should be compromised in a libel action.”

“Oh, then I think it can be managed.  Were I in your place I should try and get rid of him for nothing.  I can’t offer you better terms; it wouldn’t pay me to do so; I might as well start a new paper.”

“Yes, but tell me, how can I get rid of him for nothing?”

Thigh looked at Frank inquiringly, and apparently satisfied he drew his chair nearer, stroked his moustache, and said, speaking under his breath—­

“Have you collected what money is owing to the paper lately?  Have you many outstanding debts?”

“We have got some.”

“Well, don’t collect any money that is owing, but make out a long statement of the paper’s liabilities; don’t say a word about the outstanding debts, and tell your friend that he is responsible as part owner of the paper for this money.  When you have sufficiently frightened him, suggest that he should sign over his share to you, you being a man of straw whom it would be useless to proceed against.  Or you might get your printer to press you for money—­”

“That won’t be difficult.”

“Offer him a bill, and then mix the two accounts up together.”

At this moment Mike was speaking to Lizzie of love.  She told him there was no real happiness except in married life, assured him that though they might be beggars to-day, she would not give up her husband for all the wealth of the three kingdoms.

Very anxious to ascertain the truth about married life, Mike pressed Lizzie upon several points; the old ache awoke about his heart, and again he resolved to regenerate his life, and love Lily and none but her.  He looked round the room, considering how he could get away.  Frank was talking business.  He would not disturb him.  No doubt Thigh was concocting some swindle, but he (Mike) knew nothing of business; he had a knack of turning the king at ecarte, but was nowhere once bills and the cooking of accounts were introduced.  Should he post the letter?  That was the question, and it played in his ears like an electric bell.  Here was the letter; he could feel it through his coat, lying over his heart, and there it had lain since he had written it.

Frank and Thigh continued talking; Lizzie went to the baby, and Mike walked into the night, looking at the stars.  He walked along the white high-road—­to him a road of dreams—­towards the white town—­to him a town of chimeras—­and leaning over the moon-lit river, shaking himself free from the hallucination within and without him, he said—­