On

 "Hang you!" said the man. "Look where you're going." 

 "Your fault," retorted Gray, "stupid!" 

 "Who's that?" The man stopped. "Is that Jimmy Gray?" 

 "Why, it's Lambert," said Gray. "How are you, old man?" 

 They shook hands cordially, and slapped each other in the familiar old pal style. 

 "Why, what are you doing down this way?" said Gray. 

 "Jimmy," said the other eagerly, "you're the very chap I've been looking for. I wouldn't have missed you for anything." 

 "Funds low?" asked Gray. 

 "It isn't that," said Lambert. 

 He opened the black bag and drew forth a notebook that bulged with cards and bits of paper. One of the cards he placed in the hands of Gray. 

 "Society of Old Friends," read Gray. "A new social club for business men; secretary, Charles Lambert, Esq." 

 "Guinea a year," said Lambert, "and the membership complete all but one. Exceptional chance, Jimmy. Spacious club-rooms, billiards, and all the rest. Open as soon as members' list complete. My boy, it's a chance you ought not to miss." 

 "I know," said Gray; "they always are." 

 "Don't take my word," said Lambert. "Come and look for yourself. I'm off there now. Just by the G.P.O.—come along." 

 An hour later Gray resumed his walk to Liverpool Street, a member of the Society of Old Friends. 

 "That settles one thing," he said, as he got into the Leytonstone train. "Emily is sure to swallow this, and it'll give me a bit more time off." 

 Gray, like Busby, had not been quite honest with his wife on the subject of the Fairbrother legacy. As a matter of fact, at this moment she knew nothing whatever about it, and had not the 

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