this weakness of memory where financial obligations were concerned
was a leading trait in Lord Dreever's character.
"To-day, do you mean?" said Jimmy.
"Well, in the near future. What I mean is, why not put off that
Japan trip you spoke about, and come down to Dreever with me?"
Jimmy reflected. After all, Japan or Dreever, it made very little
difference. And it would be interesting to see a place about which
he had read so much.
"That's very good of you," he said. "You're sure it will be all
right? It won't be upsetting your arrangements?"
"Not a bit. The more the merrier. Can you catch the two-fifteen?
It's fearfully short notice."
"Heavens, yes. I can pack in ten minutes. Thanks very much."
"Good business. There'll be shooting and all that sort of rot. Oh,
and by the way, are you any good at acting? I mean, there are going
to be private theatricals of sorts. A man called Charteris insisted
on getting them up--always getting up theatricals. Rot, I call it;
but you can't stop him. Do you do anything in that line?"
"Put me down for what you like, from Emperor of Morocco to Confused
Noise Without. I was on the stage once. I'm particularly good at
shifting scenery."
"Good for you. Well, so long. Two-fifteen from Paddington, remember.
I'll meet you there. I've got to go and see a fellow now."
"I'll look out for you."
A sudden thought occurred to Jimmy. Spike! He had forgotten Spike
for the moment. It was vital that the Bowery boy should not be lost
sight of again. He was the one link with the little house somewhere
beyond One Hundred and Fiftieth Street. He could not leave the
Bowery boy at the flat. A vision rose in his mind of Spike alone in
London, with Savoy Mansions as a base for his operations. No, Spike
must be transplanted to the country. But Jimmy could not seem to see
Spike in the country. His boredom would probably be pathetic. But it
was the only way.
Lord Dreever facilitated matters.
"By the way, Pitt," he said, "you've got a man of sorts, of course?
One of those frightful fellows who forgot to pack your collars?
Bring him along, of course."
"Thanks," said Jimmy. "I will."
The matter had scarcely been settled when the door opened, and
revealed the subject of discussion. Wearing a broad grin of mingled
pride and bashfulness, and looking very stiff and awkward in one of
the brightest tweed suits ever seen off the stage, Spike stood for a
moment in the doorway to let his appearance sink into the spectator,
then advanced into the room.
"How do dese strike you, boss?" he inquired genially, as Lord
Dreever gaped in astonishment at this bright being.
"Pretty nearly blind, Spike," said Jimmy. "What made you get those?
We use electric light here."
Spike was full of news.
"Say, boss, dat clothin'-store's a willy wonder, sure. De old mug
what showed me round give me de frozen face when I come in foist.
'What's doin'?' he says. 'To de woods wit' you. Git de hook!' But I
hauls out de plunks you give me, an' tells him how I'm here to get a
dude suit, an', gee! if he don't haul out suits by de mile. Give me
a toist, it did, watching him. 'It's up to youse,' says de mug.
'Choose somet'in'. You pays de money, an' we does de rest.' So, I
says dis is de one, an' I put down de plunks, an' here I am, boss."
"I noticed that, Spike," said Jimmy. "I could see you in the dark."
"Don't you like de duds, boss?" inquired Spike, anxiously.
"They're great," said Jimmy. "You'd make Solomon in all his glory
look like a tramp 'cyclist."
"Dat's right," agreed Spike. "Dey'se de limit."
And, apparently oblivious to the presence of Lord Dreever, who had
been watching him in blank silence since his entrance, the Bowery
boy proceeded to execute a mysterious shuffling dance on the carpet.
This was too much for the overwrought brain of his lordship.
"Good-bye, Pitt," he said, "I'm off. Got to see a man."
Jimmy saw his guest to the door.
Outside, Lord Dreever placed the palm of his right hand on his
forehead.
"I say, Pitt," he said.
"Hullo?"
"Who the devil's that?"
"Who? Spike? Oh, that's my man."
"Your man! Is he always like that? I mean, going on like a frightful
music-hall comedian? Dancing, you know! And, I say, what on earth
language was that he was talking? I couldn't understand one word in
ten."
"Oh, that's American, the Bowery variety."
"Oh, well, I suppose it's all right if you understand it. I
can't. By gad," he broke off, with a chuckle, "I'd give something to
see him talking to old Saunders, our butler at home. He's got the
manners of a duke."
"Spike should revise those," said Jimmy.
"What do you call him?"
"Spike."
"Rummy name, isn't it?"
"Oh, I don't know. Short for Algernon."
"He seemed pretty chummy."
"That's his independent bringing-up. We're all like that in
America."
"Well, so long."
"So long."
On the bottom step, Lord Dreever halted.
"I say. I've got it!"
"Good for you. Got what?"
"Why, I knew I'd seen that chap's face somewhere before, only I
couldn't place him. I've got him now. He's the Johnny who came into
the shelter last night. Chap you gave a quid to."
Spike's was one of those faces that, without being essentially
beautiful, stamp themselves on the memory.
"You're quite right," said Jimmy. "I was wondering if you would
recognize him. The fact is, he's a man I once employed over in New
York, and, when I came across him over here, he was so evidently
wanting a bit of help that I took him on again. As a matter of fact,
I needed somebody to look after my things, and Spike can do it as
well as anybody else."
"I see. Not bad my spotting him, was it? Well, I must be off. Good-
bye. Two-fifteen at Paddington. Meet you there. Take a ticket for
Dreever if you're there before me."
"Eight. Good-bye."
Jimmy returned to the dining-room. Spike, who was examining as much
as he could of himself in the glass, turned round with his wonted
grin.
"Say, who's de gazebo, boss? Ain't he de mug youse was wit' last
night?"
"That's the man. We're going down with him to the country to-day,
Spike, so be ready."
"On your way, boss. What's dat?"
"He has invited us to his country house, and we're going."
"What? Bot'of us?"
"Yes. I told him you were my servant. I hope you aren't offended."
"Nit. What's dere to be raw about, boss?"
"That's all right. Well, we'd better be packing. We have to be at
the station at two."
"Sure."
"And, Spike!"
"Yes, boss?"
"Did you get any other clothes besides what you've got on?"
"Nit. What do I want wit more dan one dude suit?"
"I approve of your rugged simplicity," said Jimmy, "but what you're
wearing is a town suit. Excellent for the Park or the Marchioness's
Thursday crush, but essentially metropolitan. You must get something
else for the country, something dark and quiet. I'll come and help
you choose it, now."
"Why, won't dis go in de country?"
"Not on your life, Spike. It would unsettle the rustic mind. They're
fearfully particular about that sort of thing in England."
"Dey's to de bad," said the baffled disciple of Beau Brummel, with
deep discontent.
"And there's just one more thing, Spike. I know you'll excuse my
mentioning it. When we're at Dreever Castle, you will find yourself
within reach of a good deal of silver and other things. Would it be
too much to ask you to forget your professional instincts? I