ground.

"Well, I'm quite sure I don't," said Charlie, a little stiffly.

There was a pause.

"As you please," said Mr. Prohack, putting the cheque--interest and
all--into his pocket.

"Thanks," said Charlie. "Much obliged. You're a noble father, and I
shouldn't be a bit surprised if you've laid the foundation of my
fortunes. But of course you never know--in my business."

"What _is_ your business?" Mr. Prohack asked timidly, almost
apologetically. He had made up his mind on the previous evening that he
would talk to Charlie as a father ought to talk to a son, that is to
say, like a cross-examining barrister and a moralist combined. He had
decided that it was more than his right--it was his duty to do so. But
now the right, if not the duty, seemed less plain, and he remembered
what he had said to Eve concerning the right attitude of parents to
children. And chiefly he remembered that Charlie was not in his debt.

"I'm a buyer and seller. I buy for less than I sell for. That's how I
live."

"It appears to be profitable."

"Yes. I made over ten thousand in Glasgow, buying an option on an
engineering business--with your money--from people who wanted to get rid
of it, and then selling what I hadn't paid for to people in London who