“Oh, positively!” said Archie.  “Beneath a rugged exterior I hide a brain like a buzz-saw.  Sense?  I exude it, laddie; I drip with it.”

There were moments during the ensuing days when Mr. Brewster permitted himself to hope; but more frequent were the moments when he told himself that a pronounced chump like his son-in-law could not fail somehow to make a mess of the negotiations.  His relief, therefore, when Archie curveted into his private room and announced that he had succeeded was great.

“You really managed to make that wop sell out?”

Archie brushed some papers off the desk with a careless gesture, and seated himself on the vacant spot.

“Absolutely!  I spoke to him as one old friend to another, sprayed the bills all over the place; and he sang a few bars from ‘Rigoletto,’ and signed on the dotted line.”

“You’re not such a fool as you look,” owned Mr. Brewster.

Archie scratched a match on the desk and lit a cigarette.

“It’s a jolly little shop,” he said.  “I took quite a fancy to it.  Full of newspapers, don’t you know, and cheap novels, and some weird-looking sort of chocolates, and cigars with the most fearfully attractive labels.  I think I’ll make a success of it.  It’s bang in the middle of a dashed good neighbourhood.  One of these days somebody will be building a big hotel round about there, and that’ll help trade a lot.  I look forward to ending my days on the other side of the counter with a full set of white whiskers and a skull-cap, beloved by everybody.  Everybody’ll say, ’Oh, you must patronise that quaint, delightful old blighter!  He’s quite a character.’”

Mr. Brewster’s air of grim satisfaction had given way to a look of discomfort, almost of alarm.  He presumed his son-in-law was merely indulging in badinage; but even so, his words were not soothing.

“Well, I’m much obliged,” he said.  “That infernal shop was holding up everything.  Now I can start building right away.”

Archie raised his eyebrows.

“But, my dear old top, I’m sorry to spoil your daydreams and stop you chasing rainbows, and all that, but aren’t you forgetting that the shop belongs to me?  I don’t at all know that I want to sell, either!”

“I gave you the money to buy that shop!”

“And dashed generous of you it was, too!” admitted Archie, unreservedly.  “It was the first money you ever gave me, and I shall always, tell interviewers that it was you who founded my fortunes.  Some day, when I’m the Newspaper-and-Tobacco-Shop King, I’ll tell the world all about it in my autobiography.”

Mr. Brewster rose dangerously from his seat.

“Do you think you can hold me up, you—­you worm?”

“Well,” said Archie, “the way I look at it is this.  Ever since we met, you’ve been after me to become one of the world’s workers, and earn a living for myself, and what not; and now I see a way to repay you for your confidence and encouragement.  You’ll look me up sometimes at the good old shop, won’t you?” He slid off the table and moved towards the door.  “There won’t be any formalities where you are concerned.  You can sign bills for any reasonable amount any time you want a cigar or a stick of chocolate.  Well, toodle-oo!”