easily contemplate taking such a step than providing his daughter with seven hundred a year, the Pastor of Souls, I may remind you, was not the only person to be considered. You are forgetting the Artist Fellow.
What did that vain and improvident wastrel care for the pocket of the Archdeacon, if only his desire to be printed might be satisfied? What was it to him though the good gentleman with whom he resided should, with his whole family, be brought to a crust, so long as a certain unborn novel should first have seen the light? Put on the fire what he had toiled five months to make! Not so! Not so, by Heaven! "Trixie" must out at any cost. "And after all," he argued in the Archdeacon's ear, "Dunkle's right. You can afford it perfectly well. Those Belgian Distillery shares are worth double to-day
