“Not EXactly buy it, sir,” purred Gadgem, twisting his body into an obsequious spiral.  “Men of your position do not traffic in such things—­but if you would be persuaded, sir, for a money consideration which you would fix yourself—­say the ORIGinal cost of the gun—­to spare one of your five—­you would greatly delight—­in fact, you would overWHELM with gratitude—­a friend of mine.”

St. George hesitated, looked out of the window and a brand-new thought forced its way into his mind—­as if a closet had been suddenly opened, revealing a skeleton he had either forgotten or had put permanently out of sight.  There was need of this “original cost”—­instant need—­something he had entirely forgotten.  Jemima would soon need it—­perhaps needed it at that very minute.  He had, it was true, often kept her waiting:  but that was when he could pay at his pleasure; now, perhaps, he couldn’t pay at all.

“All right, Gadgem,” he said slowly, a far-away, thoughtful look on his face—­“come to think of it I don’t need two guns of this calibre, and I am quite willing to let this one go, if it will oblige your friend.”  Here Todd breathed a sigh of relief so loud and deep that his master turned his head in inquiry.  “As to the price—­I’ll look that up.  Come and see me again in a day or two.  Better take the gun with you now.”

The fight had been won, but the risk had been great.  Even Pawson could hardly believe his ears when Gadgem, five minutes later, related the outcome of the interview.

“Well, then, it will be plain sailing so long as the rest of the things last,” said Pawson, handling the piece with a covetous touch.  He too liked a day off when he could get it.  “Who will you sell the gun to, Gadgem?”

“God knows—­I don’t!  I’ll borrow the money on it somehow—­but I can’t see him suffer—­no, sir—­can’t see him SUFfer.  It’s a pleasure to serve him—­real gentleman—­real—­do you hear, Pawson?  No veneer—­no sham—­no lies!  Damn few such men, I tell you.  Never met one before-never will meet one again.  Gave up everything he had for a rattle-brain young scamp—­BEGgared himself to pay his debts—­not a drop of the fellow’s blood in his veins either—­incredible—­inCREDible!  Got to handle him like gunpowder or he’ll blow everything into matchsticks.  Find out the price and I’ll bring the money to-morrow.  Do you pay it to him; I can’t.  I’d feel too damn mean after lying to him the way I have.  Feel that way now.  Good-day.”

The same scene was practically repeated the following month.  It was an English saddle this time, St. George having two.  And it was the same unknown gentleman who figured as “the much-obliged friend,” Pawson conducting the negotiations and securing the owner’s consent.  On this occasion Gadgem sold the saddle outright to the keeper of a livery stable, whose bills he collected, paying the difference between the asking and the selling price out of his own pocket.