'Here is a bill on London for eight hundred pounds,' said Mr Finsbury,

as that worthy appeared. 'I am afraid, unless you choose to discount it

yourself, it may detain me a day or two till I can get it cashed.'

Mr Watts looked at the bill, turned it over, and dogs-eared it with his

fingers. 'It will keep you a day or two?' he said, repeating the old

man's words. 'You have no other money with you?'

'Some trifling change,' responded Joseph. 'Nothing to speak of.'

'Then you can send it me; I should be pleased to trust you.'

'To tell the truth,' answered the old gentleman, 'I am more than half

inclined to stay; I am in need of funds.'

'If a loan of ten shillings would help you, it is at your service,'

responded Watts, with eagerness.

'No, I think I would rather stay,' said the old man, 'and get my bill

discounted.'

'You shall not stay in my house,' cried Mr Watts. 'This is the last time

you shall have a bed at the "Tregonwell Arms".'

'I insist upon remaining,' replied Mr Finsbury, with spirit; 'I remain

by Act of Parliament; turn me out if you dare.'

The Wrong Box