"Mr. McDermot," said Moore, forcing himself to speak calmly, thankful that the publisher and he had the smoking-room to themselves, "if the proposition I have made is unsatisfactory, pray suggest one in your turn. I will consider any you may see fit to offer."

McDermot coughed a little and shook his shining old head. That Moore was in desperate need of money was quite evident. The wily old publisher had no intention of allowing the most promising young poet of the day to slip through his fingers, yet he was quite resolved to take advantage of his extremity to drive him to as desperate a bargain as could be obtained by the craft which forty years of business life had endowed him with in addition to his natural astuteness.

"No," said he, "I 'll not haggle wi' ye. No doubt there are ithers who will gi' ye what ye ask."

This last was said in a way that plainly stated his sincere conviction that no one else would even consider the matter.

"Oh, sir!" cried Moore, despairingly, "I have relied upon this bargain."

"No fault o' mine, Mr. Moore, no fault o' mine, sair."

"Do you think I would ask you to reconsider your words if I had any hope of obtaining the money in any other quarter?"

"Where is Lord Brooking? He should help ye if ye ask him."

"Lord Brooking is on the Continent."

"Really, Mr. Moore, ye accomplish nothing by this perseestance."

"Have you no heart, Mr. McDermot?"

"Weel, it has no voice in my business affairs, sair."

"If you will give me one thousand pounds to-night and three hundred more during the year you shall own and publish all that I write these two years."

"No, no, Mr. Moore."

"One hundred during the year and the thousand pounds to-night, sir."

"Let us end this useless discussion," snarled McDermot, rising from the easy chair he had occupied until now.

"No," cried Moore, "you shall not deny me. I 'll give you a bargain you cannot refuse, sir. Give me one thousand pounds which shall be payment in full for the long poem, and I will write when and how you will for the next year at your own price. Yes, I will do this and bless you for it. Oh, sir, it means more than life to me. It is my whole future.

It's love, it's honor. I beg that you will not use my extremity to drive me to despair. Surely my work is worth as much as it was a week ago when you would have gladly accepted such terms as I offer you now?"

"That is not the question," replied McDermot, coldly. "Ha' the goodness to get out o' my way, Mr. Moore."

Moore seized the publisher by the arm.

"An old man's liberty, perhaps his life; the happiness and good name of a mere girl depend upon me, sir. I have no other way of raising the money. Have pity."

"I am sorry," began McDermot in cold, merciless tones, but he got no farther.

"Then dictate your own terms, sir. I must have one thousand pounds.

For that sum I will bind myself to anything you may propose."

"Ye mean that, Mr. Moore?"

"I do, sir."

"For one thousand poonds ye will gi' me, _without further compensation_, the entire literary labor o' your life, sair? All that ye may write so long as ye live, Mr. Moore?"

"Is that the best you will offer me?"

"That's all, sair."

"I accept your terms," said Moore in a choking voice.

McDermot sat down at a desk near by and wrote out the check for the desired amount.

Moore, accompanied by Mr. Sheridan, went in search of Sir Percival armed with the check made payable to the order of the baronet by Mr. McDermot, who immediately after drawing it went home to bed, entirely satisfied with his evening's work.

The two Irishmen found Sir Percival idly chatting with Mr. Walter Scott and that gentleman's most intimate friend, Mr. Samuel Rogers, these two giants being as usual surrounded by a circle of the lesser lights in the world of literature. Their host, seeing that his company was evidently desired, excused himself to his other guests, and the trio withdrew to a secluded corner of the room.

"Sir Percival," said Moore, in reply to the baronet's inquiring glance, "I have been informed by my friend, Mr. d.y.k.e, that he is indebted to you for the amount of one thousand pounds."

Sir Percival allowed an expression of gentle surprise to play over his clever face.

"It is quite true, Mr. Moore, but really I fail to see how the transaction concerns you in the least."

"Perhaps your comprehension of the affair in its entirety is quite as unnecessary as you seem to regard the interest I feel in the matter,"

replied Moore, taking the same key as his host.

"Will you pardon me if I ask the business in regard to which you wish to see me?"

"Certainly, Sir Percival, I desire you to give Mr. d.y.k.e a receipt for one thousand pounds."

"Tut, tut!" said the baronet, as though slightly irritated by the apparent silliness of Moore's request. "I shall do nothing of the sort unless I am paid in full."

"Allow me to pay you, sir. Here are a thousand pounds."

Sir Percival took the check from Moore, for once astonished out of his usually indifferent demeanor.

"The devil!" said he.

"Yes, a publisher," replied Moore, with a wink at Sheridan. "Kindly write me out a receipt, Sir Percival. Sherry, you will witness this transaction?"

"Faith, that I will gladly," said the dramatist, regarding Sir Percival's discomfiture with a humorous twinkle in his keen old eyes.

"Damme, this is really a joyous occasion for all concerned."

To say that Sir Percival was surprised would be but to feebly express the feelings of that gentleman when he received payment of the debt which he had fondly hoped would be sufficient to gain his ends with Mistress Bessie. However, quickly rallying from his momentary discomposure, he put the check in his pocket.

"Believe me, gentlemen, I receive this with pleasure," said he, scribbling off a receipt with pen and ink brought by a servant.

"Yes, I know how pleased you are," replied Moore, politely. Then taking the acknowledgment of liquidation from the baronet, he carefully folded it before depositing it in his wallet.

"Some day, Sir Percival, when the time comes for us to make a settlement, I shall ask you for my receipt," he said in a tone that there was no mistaking.

"When that time comes, Mr. Moore, you will find me as eager and prompt as yourself," replied Sir Percival.