"A fiddlestick, sir--an accursed fiddlestick!" snorted Sir
Richard. "How is a boy, an unsophisticated, hot-headed young
fool of a boy to earn his own living?"

"Others have done it," I began.

"Pish!" said the baronet.

"And been the better for it in the end."

"Tush!" said the baronet.

"And I have a great desire to see the world from the viewpoint of
the multitude."

"Bah!" said the baronet, so forcibly that his mare started; "this
comes of your damnable Revolutionary tendencies. Let me tell
you, Want is a hard master, and the world a bad place for one who
is moneyless and without friends."

"You forget, sir, I shall never be without a friend."

"God knows it, boy," answered Sir Richard, and his hand fell and
rested for a moment upon my shoulder. "Peter," said he, very
slowly and heavily, "I'm growing old--and I shall never marry--and
sometimes, Peter, of an evening I get very lonely and--lonely,
Peter." He stopped for a while, gazing away towards the green
slopes of distant Shooter's Hill. "Oh, boy!" said he at last,
"won't you come to the Hall and help me to spend my money?"