'And talking of that, has Morris any power to sign for the firm?' asked Michael.

'No one but myself,' replied Joseph.

'Poor devil of a Morris! Oh, poor devil of a Morris!' cried the lawyer in delight. 'And his keeping up the farce that you're at home! Oh, Morris, the Lord has delivered you into my hands! Let me see, Uncle Joseph, what do you suppose the leather business worth?'

'It was worth a hundred thousand,' said Joseph bitterly, 'when it was in my hands. But then there came a Scotchman—it is supposed he had a certain talent—it was entirely directed to book-keeping—no accountant in London could understand a word of any of his books; and then there was Morris, who is perfectly incompetent. And now it is worth very little. Morris tried to sell it last year; and Pogram & Jarris offered only four thousand.'

'I shall turn my attention to leather,' said Michael, with decision.

'You?' asked Joseph. 'I advise you not. There is nothing in the whole field of commerce more surprising than the fluctuations of the leather market. Its sensitiveness may be described as morbid.'