'It might be Uncle Tim,' insisted Pitman, 'and if it were, and I neglected the occasion, how could I ever took my children in the face? I do not refer to Mrs Pitman . . .'
'No, you never do,' said Michael.
'. . . but in the case of her own brother returning from Ballarat . . .' continued Pitman.
'. . . with his mind unhinged,' put in the lawyer.
'. . . returning from Ballarat with a large fortune, her impatience may be more easily imagined than described,' concluded Pitman.
'All right,' said Michael, 'be it so. And what do you propose to do?'
'I am going to Waterloo,' said Pitman, 'in disguise.'
'All by your little self?' enquired the lawyer. 'Well, I hope you think it safe. Mind and send me word from the police cells.'
'Oh, Mr. Finsbury, I had ventured to hope—perhaps you might be induced to—to make one of us,' faltered Pitman.
'Disguise myself on Sunday?' cried Michael. 'How little you understand my principles!'
'Mr. Finsbury, I have no means of showing you my gratitude; but let me ask you one question,'
