John Ingerfield

Will finds his chair growing uncomfortable under him, while the Madeira somehow loses its flavour. He gives a short, nervous laugh.

"By Jove," he says: "so soon as that? The date had quite slipped my memory."

"Fortunate that I reminded you," says John, the smile round his lips deepening.

Will fidgets on his seat. "I'm afraid, my dear Jack," he says, "I shall have to get you to renew it, just for a month or two,--deuced awkward thing, but I'm remarkably short of money this year. Truth is, I can't get what's owing to myself."

"That's very awkward, certainly," replies his friend, "because I am not at all sure that I shall be able to renew it."

Will stares at him in some alarm. "But what am I to do if I hav'n't the money?"

John Ingerfield shrugs his shoulders.

"You don't mean, my dear Ja