232 The Light That Failed “But you can’t look after yourself?” “I can do anything. I didn’t realize it before, but I can. I’ve done a great deal already. Resolution shall be treated to one kiss if Bessie doesn’t object.” Strangely enough, Bessie objected and Dick laughed. “I suppose you're right. Well, come at nine the day after tomorrow and you'll get your money.” “Shall I sure?” “I don’t bilk, and you won’t know whether I do or not unless you come. Oh, but it’s long and long to wait! Good-bye, Bessie, — send Beeton here as you go out.” The housekeeper came. “What are all the fittings of my rooms worth?” said Dick, imperiously. “Tisn’t for me to say, sir. Some things is very pretty and some is wore out dreadful.” “I’m insured for two hundred and seventy.” “Insurance policies is no criterion, though I don’t say — “Oh, damn your longwindedness! You’ve made your pickings out of me and the other tenants. Why, you talked of retiring and buying a public-house the other day. Give a straight answer to a straight question.” “Fifty,” said Mr. Beeton, without a moment’s hesitation. “Double it; or Pll break up half my sticks and burn the rest.” He felt his way to a bookstand that supported a pile of sketch-books, and wrenched out one of the mahogany pillars. “That's sinful, sir,” said the housekeeper, alarmed. “It’s my own. One hundred or —” “One hundred it 1s. It’ll cost me three and six to get that there pilaster mended.” “I thought so. What an out and out swindler you