.

Final Adjustment of the Leather Business.
Finsbury brothers were ushered, at ten the next morning, into a large apartment in Michael's office; the Great Vance, somewhat restored from yesterday's exhaustion, but with one foot in a slipper; Morris, not positively damaged, but a man ten years older than he who had left Bournemouth eight days before, his face ploughed full of anxious wrinkles, his dark hair liberally grizzled at the temples.
Three persons were seated at a table to receive them: Michael in the midst, Gideon Forsyth on his right hand, on his left an ancient gentleman with spectacles and silver hair.

'By Jingo, it's Uncle Joe!' cried John.
But Morris approached his uncle with a pale countenance and glittering eyes.
'I'll tell you what you did!' he cried.

'You absconded!' 'Good morning, Morris Finsbury,' returned Joseph, with no less asperity; 'you are looking seriously ill.' 'No use making trouble now,' remarked Michael.

'Look the facts in the face.