When Doctor Walker had departed, the Admiral packed all his possessions back into his sea chest with the exception of one little brass-bound desk. This he unlocked, and took from it a dozen or so blue sheets of paper all mottled over with stamps and seals, with very large V. R.'s printed upon the heads of them. He tied these carefully into a small bundle, and placing them in the inner pocket of his coat, he seized his stick and hat.  
“Oh, John, don't do this rash thing,” cried Mrs. Denver, laying her hands upon his sleeve. “I have seen so little of you, John. Only three years since you left the service. Don't leave me again. I know it is weak of me, but I cannot bear it.”
 
“There's my own brave lass,” said he, smoothing down the grey-shot hair. “We've lived in honor together, mother, and please God in honor we'll die. No matter how debts are made, they have got to be met, and what the boy owes we owe. He has not the money, and how is he to find it? He can't find it. What then? It becomes my business, and there's only one way for it.”
 
“But it may not be so very bad, John. Had we not best wait until after he sees these people to-morrow?”
 
“They may give him little time, lass. But I'll have a care that I don't go so far that I can't put back again. Now, mother, there's no use holding me. It's got to be done, and there's no sense in shirking it.” He detached her fingers from his sleeve, pushed her gently back into an arm-chair, and hurried from the house.
 
In less than half an hour the Admiral was whirled into Victoria Station and found himself amid a , who jostled and pushed in the crowded terminus. His errand, which had seemed feasible enough in his own room, began now to present difficulties in the carrying out, and he puzzled over how he should take the first steps. Amid the stream of business men, each hurrying on his definite way, the old in his grey tweed suit and black soft hat strode slowly along, his head sunk and his brow wrinkled in perplexity. Suddenly an idea occurred to him. He walked back to the railway stall and bought a daily paper. This he turned and turned until a certain column met his eye, when he smoothed it out, and carrying it over to a seat, proceeded to read it at his leisure.
 
And, indeed, as a man read that column, it seemed strange to him that there should still remain any one in this world of ours who should be in straits for want of money. Here were whole lines of gentlemen who were burdened with a surplus in their incomes, and who were loudly calling to the poor and to come and take it off their hands. Here was the guileless person who was not a professional moneylender, but who would be glad to correspond, etc. Here too was the accommodating individual who advanced sums from ten to ten thousand pounds without expense, security, or delay. “The money actually paid over within a few hours,” ran this fascinating advertisement, up a vision of swift messengers rushing with bags of gold to the aid of the poor struggler. A third gentleman did all business by personal application, advanced money on anything or nothing; the lightest and airiest promise was enough to content him according to his circular, and finally he never asked for more than five per cent. This struck the Admiral as far the most , and his wrinkles relaxed, and his frown away as he gazed at it. He folded up the paper rose from the seat, and found himself face to face with Charles Westmacott.
 
“Hullo, Admiral!”
 
“Hullo, Westmacott!” Charles had always been a favorite of the seaman's. “What are you doing here?”
 
“Oh, I have been doing a little business for my aunt. But I have never seen you in London before.”
 
“I hate the place. It me. There's not a breath of clean air on this side of Greenwich. But maybe you know your way about pretty well in the City?”
 
“Well, I know something about it. You see I've never lived very far from it, and I do a good deal of my aunt's business.”
 
“Maybe you know Bread Street?”
 
“It is out of Cheapside.”
 
“Well then, how do you for it from here? You make me out a course and I'll keep to it.”
 
“Why, Admiral, I have nothing to do. I'll take you there with pleasure.”
 
“Will you, though? Well, I'd take it very if you would. I have business there. Smith and Hanbury, financial agents, Bread Street.”
 
The pair made their way to the river-side, and so down the Thames to St. Paul's landing—a mode of travel which was much more to the Admiral's taste than 'bus or cab. On the way, he told his companion his mission and the causes which had led to it. Charles Westmacott knew little enough of City life and the ways of business, but at least he had more experience in both than the Admiral, and he made up his mind not to leave him until the matter was settled.
 
“These are the people,” said the Admiral, twisting round his paper, and pointing to the advertisement which had seemed to him the most promising. “It sounds honest and above-board, does it not? The personal interview looks as if there were no trickery, and then no one could object to five per cent.”
 
“No, it seems fair enough.”
 
“It is not pleasant to have to go hat in hand borrowing money, but there are times, as you may find before you are my age, Westmacott, when a man must stow away his pride. But here's their number, and their plate is on the corner of the door.”
 
A narrow entrance was flanked on either side by a row of , ranging from the shipbrokers and the who occupied the ground floors, through a long succession of West Indian agents, architects, surveyors, and , to the firm of which they were in quest. A stone stair, well carpeted and railed at first but growing shabbier with every landing, brought them past innumerable doors until, at last, just under the ground-glass roofing, the names of Smith and Hanbury were to be seen painted in large white letters across a panel, with a invitation to push beneath it. Following out the suggestion, the Admiral and his companion found themselves in a apartment, ill lit from a couple of windows. An ink-stained table, littered with pens, papers, and almanacs, an American cloth sofa, three chairs of varying patterns, and a much-worn carpet, constituted all the furniture, save only a very large and spittoon, and a framed and very picture which hung above the fireplace. Sitting in front of this picture, and staring gloomily at it, as being the only thing which he could stare at, was a small sallow-faced boy with a large head, who in the of his art studies at an apple.
 
“Is Mr. Smith or Mr. Hanbury in?” asked the Admiral.
 
“There ain't no such people,” said the small boy.
 
“But you have the names on the door.”
 
“Ah, that is the name of the firm, you see. It's only a name. It's Mr. Reuben Metaxa that you wants.”
 
“Well then, is he in?”
 
“No, he's not.”
 
“When will he be back?”
 
“Can't tell, I'm sure. He's gone to lunch. Sometimes he takes one hour, and sometimes two. It'll be two to-day, I 'spect, for he said he was hungry afore he went.”
 
“Then I suppose that we had better call again,” said the Admiral.
 
“Not a bit,” cried Charles. “I know how to manage these little . See here, you young varmint, here's a shilling for you. Run off and fetch your master. If you don't bring him here in five minutes I'll you on the side of the head when you get back. Shoo! Scat!” He charged at the youth, who bolted from the room and madly down-stairs.
 
“He'll fetch him,” said Charles. “Let us make ourselves at home. This sofa does not feel over and above safe. It was not meant for fifteen-stone men. But this doesn't look quite the sort of place where one would expect to pick up money.”
 
“Just what I was thinking,” said the Admiral, looking ruefully about him.
 
“Ah, well! I have heard that the best furnished offices generally belong to the poorest firms. Let us hope it's the opposite here. They can't spend much on the management anyhow. That pumpkin-headed boy was the staff, I suppose. Ha, by Jove, that's his voice, and he's got our man, I think!”
 
As he the youth appeared in the with a small, brown, dried-up little chip of a man at his heels. He was clean-shaven and blue-chinned, with black hair, and keen brown eyes which shone out very brightly from between under-lids and upper ones. He advanced, glancing keenly from one to the other of his visitors, and slowly rubbing together his thin, blue-veined hands. The small boy closed the door behind him, and vanished.
 
“I am Mr. Reuben Metaxa,” said the moneylender. “Was it about an advance you wished to see me?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“For you, I presume?” turning to Charles Westmacott.
 
“No, for this gentleman.”
 
The moneylender looked surprised. “How much did you desire?”
 
“I thought of five thousand pounds,” said the Admiral.
 
“And on what security?”
 
“I am a admiral of the British navy. You will find my name in the Navy List. There is my card. I have here my pension papers. I get L850 a year. I thought that perhaps if you were to hold these papers it would be security enough that I should pay you. You could draw my pension, and repay yourselves at the rate, say, of L500 a year, taking your five per cent interest as well.”
 
“What interest?”
 
“Five per cent per annum.”
 
Mr. Metaxa laughed. “Per annum!” he said. “Five per cent a month.”
 
“A month! That would be sixty per cent a year.”
 
“Precisely.”
 
“But that is .”
 
“I don't ask gentlemen to come to me. They come of their own free will. Those are my terms, and they can take it or leave it.”
 
“Then I shall leave it.” The Admiral rose angrily from his chair.
 
............