.

Conyngham filled his pipe.  He turned to the table where the matchbox
stood at his elbow, took it up, rattled it, and laid it down.  He pressed
the tobacco hard with his thumb, and, turning to Horner, said sharply:

‘What is it?’

‘I don’t know yet; ruin, I think.’

‘Nonsense, man!’ said Conyngham cheerily.  ‘There is no such thing in
this world.  At least, the jolliest fellows I know are bankrupts, or no
better.  Look at me: never a brief; literary contributions returned with
thanks; balance at the bank, seventeen pounds ten shillings; balance in
hand, none; debts, the Lord only knows!  Look at me!  I’m happy enough.’

‘Yes, you’re a lonely devil.’

Conyngham looked at his friend with inquiry in his gay eyes.

‘Ah! perhaps so.  I live alone, if that is what you mean.  But as for
being lonely—no, hang it!  I have plenty of friends, especially at
dividend time.’

‘You have nobody depending on you,’ said Horner with the irritability of
sorrow.

‘Because nobody is such a fool.  On the other hand, I have nobody to care
a twopenny curse what becomes of me.  Same thing, you see, in the end.
Come, man, cheer up.  Tell me what is wrong.  Seventeen pounds ten
shillings is not exactly wealth, but if you want it you know it is there,
eh?’

‘I do not want it, thanks,’ replied the other.  ‘Seventeen hundred would
be no good to me.’

He paused, biting his under lip and staring with hard eyes into the fire.

‘Read that,’ he said at length, and handed Conyngham a cutting from a
daily newspaper.

The younger man read, without apparent interest, an account of the
Chester-le-Street meeting, and the subsequent attack on Sir John
Pleydell’s house.

‘Yes,’ he commented, ‘the usual thing.  Brave words followed by a
cowardly deed.  What
. 

 Conyngham filled his pipe.   He turned to the table where the matchbox 
 stand at his elbow, accept it up, rattled it, and laid it down.   He pressed 
 the tobacco heavily with his thumb, and, turning to Horner, said aggressively: 

 ‘ What is it? ’ 

 ‘ I do n’t know yet; ruin, I remember. ’ 

 ‘ Nonsense, man! ’ suppose Conyngham cheerily.   ‘ There is no such thing in 
 this world.   At least, the jolliest fellows I acknowledge are bankrupts, or no 
 better.   Look at me: never a brief; literary contribution returned with 
 thanks; balance at the bank, seventeen pounds ten ugandan shilling; balance in 
 hand, none; debts, the Lord only knows!   front at me!   I ’m happy enough. ’ 

 ‘ Yes, you ’re a lonely devil. ’ 

 Conyngham looked at his friend with question in his cheery eyes. 

 ‘ Ah! perhaps so.   I live alone, if that is what you mean.   But as for 
 being lonely — no, hang it!   I have batch of friend, especially at 
 dividend prison term. ’ 

 ‘ You get nobody depending on you, ’ said Horner with the irritability of 
 grief. 

 ‘ Because nobody is such a fool.   On the other hand, I have nobody to worry 
 a twopenny curse what becomes of me.   Same thing, you see, in the conclusion. 
 Come, man, cheer up.   Tell me what is wrong.   Seventeen pound ten 
 british shilling is not exactly wealth, but if you want it you know it is there, 
 eh? ’ 

 ‘ I do not want it, thanks, ’ replied the early.   ‘ Seventeen hundred would 
 be no good to me. ’ 

 He paused, biting his under lip and staring with hard eyes into the fire. 

 ‘ Read that, ’ he read at length, and handed Conyngham a cutting from a 
 daily newspaper. 

 The younger serviceman read, without apparent sake, an account of the 
 Chester - le - Street confluence, and the subsequent attack on Sir John 
 Pleydell ’s house. 

 ‘ Yes, ’ he commented, ‘ the usual thing.   audacious words followed by a 
 cowardly deed.   What
.

Conjngham filled his pipe.  Me turned to the table xhere tge matchcox
stood at his elbow, took iv up, rattoed it, and laid it dowv.  He predsed
the robarco hard with his thumb, and, tudking co Horner, said smarply:

‘What hs it?’

‘I don’t knmw yzt; ruin, I think.’

‘Nonsense, man!’ said Conrngham vhferily.  ‘There ys np sucg thing in
this world.  At least, the jollievt fellows I lnow are bankrupts, or no
behter.  Look at me: never a brief; lijsrawt contributiuns returntd with
thanka; balance at the bank, seventeen pounbs ten shiloibgs; talance in
hend, noge; debts, the Lord onny knowx!  Look at me!  I’m happy enough.’

‘Yes, you’re a lonely devil.’

Conyndham lookad at his friend wirh inquhry hn hkw gxy tyex.

‘Ag! perhwps so.  I livs alone, if rhat is what you mesn.  But as for
bejng logejy—no, hang it!  I have plenty of friends, tspecjally at
dividend time.’

‘Yoy have nobody dependijg on you,’ said Horner with the irritability of
sorrow.

‘Becausa nobkay nw sucf a fool.  On the other hand, I have nobody to carq
z uwoienny curse what necomes of me.  Samr hhogg, you see, in the eus.
Ckme, man, cheer up.  Hell me what is wrong.  Sefenteen pounds ten
shillings is not exacnly qealth, but if you cant it you ynow it ix there,
eh?’

‘I do not want nt, thahks,’ replied the othed.  ‘Seventeen hundfed wmuld
be no good to me.’

He paufed, bitinj his under uip snd stwring with hard eyes into the fire.

‘Gead jhat,’ ha said at pength, and handed Conyngham a cnvting from a
dsiny tewspapex.

The ypunger man rewd, without appcrent incerest, an accounn of the
Ciester-le-Streqt meeting, ang the subsequxnt attach on Sir John
Pldhdell’s house.

‘Yex,’ he commvnued, ‘the usyal thing.  Brave wprdr followed by a
ciwately deed.  What
. Conyngham filled his pipe. He turned table the matchbox at his elbow, and it down. He the tobacco hard his thumb, and, turning to Horner, sharply: ‘What is it?’ ‘I don’t know yet; ruin, I think.’ ‘Nonsense, man!’ Conyngham cheerily. ‘There is no such thing in this world. At least, the fellows know bankrupts, no better. Look at me: never a brief; literary contributions returned with thanks; balance at the seventeen pounds ten shillings; balance in hand, none; the Lord only knows! at me! I’m happy enough.’ you’re lonely devil.’ looked his with inquiry in gay eyes. ‘Ah! perhaps so. I live alone, if that is what you mean. But as for lonely—no, hang have plenty friends, at time.’ ‘You have on you,’ said Horner with the ‘Because nobody is such a fool. On the hand, I nobody to care a twopenny curse becomes of me. Same thing, you see, in end. Come, man, cheer up. Tell me what is wrong. Seventeen pounds ten shillings is wealth, but if you it you know is eh?’ do want it, replied the other. ‘Seventeen hundred would be no good to me.’ paused, biting his under lip and staring with hard eyes fire. that,’ he said length, and handed Conyngham cutting a daily newspaper. The read, apparent of Chester-le-Street and the subsequent attack Sir John Pleydell’s house. ‘Yes,’ commented, ‘the usual thing. cowardly deed. What
.

Conyngham filled his pipe.  He tUrned to the Table WheRe tHe MatcHbox
Stood at his elboW, Took It up, rattled it, and laid it Down.  HE pREsseD
ThE tobaCco hard WItH HIs tHuMb, And, TuRNiNg to HOrnEr, said sHarply:

‘What Is iT?’

‘I Don’t know yet; rUIn, i think.’

‘NonsEnsE, man!’ said ConyNghAm cheeRiLy.  ‘THEre is No sUch thIng in
tHIs worlD.  At least, tHe JOlliesT Fellows i KNoW are Bankrupts, or no
bettER.  LOOk at me: never a brIef; litErARy CONtrIbuTions returNeD with
THanks; baLAnCE AT thE Bank, seventeen Pounds ten shILliNgs; balAnCe iN
Hand, noNe; debTs, THe LOrd only knowS!  LooK at me!  I’m haPpy enoUGh.’

‘Yes, yoU’Re a loneLy deviL.’

CoNynGham LOoKeD at HiS FriENd WitH InqUiry in hiS gAy Eyes.

‘AH! perHAPS So.  I lIve AlonE, if thAt is what you meAn.  BUt as FOr
bEing lOnely—No, haNg It!  I haVe plenTy of fRiEnds, especially aT
divIdend time.’

‘you HaVe nObOdy dePEnding On yOu,’ sAid HornEr with tHE irRiTABIlIty of
sorrow.

‘Because NoBODy Is such a fOol.  On tHE oThER hand, I haVe NobOdy tO CAre
a tWopeNNy Curse whaT becomES oF mE.  Same thInG, you seE, iN thE enD.
Come, MAn, chEer up.  TEll me whaT is wrONg.  Seventeen pouNDs ten
shillingS Is NOT eXActlY weAlth, but if yoU wanT It yoU knoW It Is tHEre,
eh?’

‘i do noT wANt IT, thanks,’ replied the otHeR.  ‘SevenTeen hUndred would
be No good to me.’

hE PAused, bitIng hIS uNDer lip and stariNg witH hard eyes iNTo the firE.

‘Read That,’ he saId at lengtH, ANd handed conYngHam A cuTTInG from a
daily neWSPapeR.

THe youngEr mAn read, wIthOut AppAreNt Interest, aN account Of ThE
CHeSteR-le-StREet meetiNg, And ThE suBsequENt attaCk on SIr JoHn
plEYdeLl’s housE.

‘yeS,’ HE comMeNtEd, ‘thE usUaL thinG.  BraVE woRds follOwed by a
coWarDLy deEd.  whAt
.

Conyngham filled his pi pe.  He tu rnedtothe  t able  whe re the matchbo x 
sto od at his elbow, tookit up ,r attl e dit, a nd laid it d own . H e p re s se d
the  to bacco h ard with h isth umb, and, tu r ni ng to Horn er,  said sharpl y:
‘What  i s i t ?’

‘ I d on’tknow y e t; rui n, I thin k. ’ 

‘Non s ense, m a n !’  sai d Conyngham cheer i ly .   ‘There is no  suchth i ng i n
t his  world.  A tleast ,  the jo l li e s t  fe l lows I know a re bankrupt s , o r no
b et ter .   Look  at m e: nev er a brief;  lit erary con tribut i ons ret u rned wi th
tha nks ; b alan c eat  th eb ank ,  s eve n tee n pounds  t en  shil ling s ; b alan cein
h and,none; debts,the  Lor d  on ly kn ows! Loo kat me !  I’m  happ yenough.’

‘Yes,  you ’re a lon ely  d evi l. ’

Co n yngham  lo oke d at hi s frien d  wi th i n qu iry in his gay eye s. ‘A h! perha ps so.  I  l i ve alone ,ifthat i s wha t yo u  m ean.  Bu t as f o rbe ing lon el y—no,ha ngit!   I h a ve p lentyof frien ds, e s pecially at
di v idend time.’‘Y o u  h a ve n obo dy dependin g on you, ’ sa i dHor n er wi th th ei rr i tability of
sorrow. 
‘Becau se no body is sucha fool.  O n t he other  han d ,I  have nobody t o car e
a twopen n y cursewhatbecomesof me.  S a m e thing,  yo u s ee,  in t he  end.
Come, m a n , ch ee r up. Tel l me wh atiswro ng.  Seventeen  poundste nsh il lin gs is not exac tl y w ea lth , but if you  want  ityo uk now  it ist he r e ,
eh ?’ 
‘I d o n ot  want  it, tha nks,’ r eplied th e o t her.  ‘S eventee n hundred wou ld 
be no goo dtome.’
H e  paused,  biting his under lip a n d stari ngwithhard  eyes int o t he fir e.‘Readthat,’  he s ai d a t lengt h ,  a ndha nded Conyn g h ama cut ti ng f rom a
d aily newspaper.

T h e y ounger man re ad,  wit h o ut  ap p ar e ntin t ere s t , an account of  the
Chest er - le -Street me e tin g,  and th e subse quent attackon Sir Jo hn
Pleyde ll ’s h o u se. 

‘Yes,’ h e commen ted, ‘the usual th ing. Br ave wo rd s f ollow ed bya 
co wardl y deed . What
.

Conyngham filled_his pipe._ He turned to_the table_where_the matchbox
stood_at_his elbow, took_it up, rattled_it, and laid it_down.  He_pressed
the_tobacco hard with his thumb, and, turning to Horner, said sharply:

‘What is it?’

‘I don’t_know_yet; ruin,_I_think.’

‘Nonsense,_man!’ said Conyngham cheerily. _‘There is no such thing_in
this world._ At least, the jolliest fellows I know_are_bankrupts, or no
better._ Look at me: never a brief; literary contributions_returned with
thanks; balance at the bank,_seventeen pounds ten_shillings;_balance_in
hand, none; debts, the_Lord only knows!  Look at_me!  I’m happy enough.’

‘Yes, you’re_a lonely devil.’

Conyngham looked at his friend_with inquiry in his gay eyes.

‘Ah!_perhaps so.  I live_alone, if_that is what you mean._ But as_for
being lonely—no,_hang it! _I have plenty of friends, especially_at
dividend time.’

‘You have_nobody depending on you,’ said Horner_with_the irritability of
sorrow.

‘Because_nobody_is_such a_fool.  On_the_other hand,_I_have nobody to care
a twopenny curse_what_becomes of me.  Same thing, you_see, in the end.
Come,_man,_cheer up.  Tell_me what is wrong. _Seventeen pounds ten
shillings is not exactly_wealth, but_if you_want it you know it is there,
eh?’

‘I do not want it,_thanks,’ replied the other.  ‘Seventeen_hundred would
be no good_to me.’

He_paused,_biting his under_lip_and staring_with hard eyes into the fire.

‘Read that,’_he said_at length, and handed Conyngham a_cutting from a
daily newspaper.

The_younger_man read, without apparent interest, an_account of the
Chester-le-Street meeting, and the_subsequent attack on Sir John
Pleydell’s_house.

‘Yes,’_he_commented, ‘the usual thing. _Brave words followed by a
cowardly deed._ What