"Mr. Osborne, you've done me a real service. I would not take a small fortune for this letter. I don't recollect how I came to lose it. Must have taken it out and dropped it accidentally. Thanks."
"Don't mention it, my boy." Very few called him Mr. Osborne.
"It is worth a good deal to me. Would you be offended if I gave you ten as a reward?"
"I'd feel hurt, Richard, but not offended," a twinkle in the watery eyes.
Warrington laughed, drew out his wallet and handed William a crisp, crackly bank-note. It went, neatly creased, into William's sagging vest-pocket.
"Have a cigarette?" asked Warrington.
"Richard, there's one thing I never did, and that's smoke one of those coffin-nails. Whisky and tobacco are all right, but I draw the line at cigarettes."
Warrington passed him a cigar. William bit off the end and lighted it. He sniffed with evident relish.
"Seems impossible, Richard, that only a few years ago you were a reporter at the police station. But I always said that you'd get there some day. You saw the dramatic side of the simplest case. I knew your father. He was one of the best farmers in the county. But he didn't know how to invest his savings. He ought to have left you rich."
"But he didn't. After all, it's a fine thing to make for the good things in life and win them yourself."