"Well, when do you think I may expect the money?" The question roused him from his reverie.
"It's hard to say, Mr. Crossley," remarked Hewson, deliberately. "Different firms have different arrangements, you know."
"Of course—of course. I'm such a baby in these things. But I do want to get my penny Mauritius back before it's sold."
Hewson bent forward suddenly, ostensibly to examine his pipe. For the first time for many years he found a difficulty in speaking; there had been no room for sentiment in his career. Then he straightened up.
"I quite understand, Mr. Crossley," he said, slowly. "And perhaps the best thing to do would be to put the matter in my hands. It has occurred to me since lunch that I've really got no clothes at all here. And so I thought I'd run up to Town and get a few and then return. While I'm up there I could look into things for you."
"But I really couldn't worry you, Mr. Hewson," protested the other.
"No worry at all. It's my work. I shall charge you commission." Hewson was lighting his pipe. "You have the certificate, I suppose."
"I've this paper," answered Mr. Crossley. "Is that what you mean?"
"That's it. Will you trust it to me? I can give you any reference you like, if you care to come with me as far as Barnstaple. They know me at the bank. I shall have to join the main line there."
"Well, perhaps——" The old man paused doubtfully. "You see, Mr. Ferguson told me to keep this most carefully."