"Ten thousand pounds! I must write him a letter and thank him."
"I'm sure Mr. Ferguson would like that," murmured Hewson. "But if I may give you a word of advice, Mr. Crossley, I wouldn't try a gamble like that again. Mines are precarious things—very precarious."
"You mean, I might have lost my money?" said the old man, nervously.
"Such things have been known to happen," said Hewson, gravely. "By the way, is your daughter not at home?"
"She has gone over to Barnstaple with her mother. I'm expecting them back at any moment. Won't they be delighted?" He chuckled gleefully, and produced the precious card containing the Mauritius set. And with a quiet smile on his face Charles Hewson watched him from the depths of an arm-chair. What a child he was: what a charming, lovable child!
"There: the complete set again." In triumph he held up the card for Hewson's inspection, and at that moment Mrs. Crossley and the girl came through the window.
The good news poured out in a torrent, while Hewson stood almost forgotten in the background.
Ten thousand pounds—two thousand five hundred shares—capital doubled in a month—and the stamp. The old man brandished the cheque in his excitement, and, at length, Mrs. Crossley turned to Hewson with a smile.
"We seem to have entertained an angel unawares," and her eyes were a little misty. "Thank you, Mr. Hewson."
"No need to thank me, Mrs. Crossley," he laughed. "These things just happen."