mentioned this before in a general sort of way, but this is a
particular case."
"Ain't I to get busy at all, den?" queried Spike.
"Not so much as a salt-spoon," said Jimmy, firmly. "Now, we'll
whistle a cab, and go and choose you some more clothes."
Accompanied by Spike, who came within an ace of looking almost
respectable in new blue serge ("Small Gent's"--off the peg), Jimmy
arrived at Paddington Station with a quarter of an hour to spare.
Lord Dreever appeared ten minutes later, accompanied by a man of
about Jimmy's age. He was tall and thin, with cold eyes and tight,
thin lips. His clothes fitted him in the way clothes do fit one man
in a thousand. They were the best part of him. His general
appearance gave one the idea that his meals did him little good, and
his meditations rather less. He had practically no conversation.
This was Lord Dreever's friend, Hargate. Lord Dreever made the
introductions; but, even as they shook hands, Jimmy had an
impression that he had seen the man before. Yet, where or in what
circumstances he could not remember. Hargate appeared to have no
recollection of him, so he did not mention the matter. A man who has
led a wandering life often sees faces that come back to him later
on, absolutely detatched from their context. He might merely have
passed Lord Dreever's friend on the street. But Jimmy had an idea
that the other had figured in some episode which at the moment had
had an importance. What that episode was had escaped him. He
dismissed the thing from his mind. It was not worth harrying his
memory about.
Judicious tipping secured the three a compartment to themselves.
Hargate, having read the evening paper, went to sleep in the far
corner. Jimmy and Lord Dreever, who sat opposite each other, fell
into a desultory conversation.
After awhile, Lord Dreever's remarks took a somewhat intimate turn.
Jimmy was one of those men whose manner invites confidences. His
lordship began to unburden his soul of certain facts relating to the
family.
"Have you ever met my Uncle Thomas?" he inquired. "You know Blunt's
Stores? Well, he's Blunt. It's a company now, but he still runs it.
He married my aunt. You'll meet him at Dreever."
Jimmy said he would be delighted.
"I bet you won't," said the last of the Dreevers, with candor. "He's
a frightful man--the limit. Always fussing round like a hen. Gives
me a fearful time, I can. tell you. Look here, I don't mind telling
you--we're pals--he's dead set on my marrying a rich girl."
"Well, that sounds all right. There are worse hobbies. Any
particular rich girl?"
"There's always one. He sicks me on to one after another. Quite nice
girls, you know, some of them; only, I want to marry somebody else,
that girl you saw me with at the Savoy."
"Why don't you tell your uncle?"
"He'd have a fit. She hasn't a penny; nor have I, except what I get
from him. Of course, this is strictly between ourselves."
"Of course."
"I know everybody thinks there's money attached to the title; but
there isn't, not a penny. When my Aunt Julia married Sir Thomas, the
whole frightful show was pretty well in pawn. So, you see how it
is."
"Ever think of work?" asked Jimmy.
"Work?" said Lord Dreever, reflectively. "Well, you know, I
shouldn't mind work, only I'm dashed if I can see what I could do. I
shouldn't know how. Nowadays, you want a fearful specialized
education, and so on. Tell you what, though, I shouldn't mind the
diplomatic service. One of these days, I shall have a dash at asking
my uncle to put up the money. I believe I shouldn't be half-bad at
that. I'm rather a quick sort of chap at times, you know. Lots of
fellows have said so."
He cleared his throat modestly, and proceeded.
"It isn't only my Uncle Thomas," he said. "There's Aunt Julia, too.
She's about as much the limit as he is. I remember, when I was a
kid, she was always sitting on me. She does still. Wait till you see
her. Sort of woman who makes you feel that your hands are the color
of tomatoes and the size of legs of mutton, if you know what I mean.
And talks as if she were biting at you. Frightful!"
Having unburdened himself of these criticisms, Lord Dreever yawned,
leaned back, and was presently asleep.
It was about an hour later that the train, which had been taking
itself less seriously for some time, stopping at stations of quite
minor importance and generally showing a tendency to dawdle, halted
again. A board with the legend, "Dreever," in large letters showed
that they had reached their destination.
The station-master informed Lord Dreever that her ladyship had come
to meet the train in the motorcar, and was now waiting in the road
outside.
Lord Dreever's jaw fell.
"Oh, lord!" he said. "She's probably motored in to get the afternoon
letters. That means, she's come in the runabout, and there's only
room for two of us in that. I forgot to telegraph that you were
coming, Pitt. I only wired about Hargate. Dash it, I shall have to
walk."
His fears proved correct. The car at the station door was small. It
was obviously designed to seat four only.
Lord Dreever introduced Hargate and Jimmy to the statuesque lady in
the tonneau; and then there was an awkward silence.
At this point, Spike came up, chuckling amiably, with a magazine in
his hand.
"Gee!" said Spike. "Say, boss, de mug what wrote dis piece must have
bin livin' out in de woods. Say, dere's a gazebo what wants to swipe
de heroine's jools what's locked in a drawer. So, dis mug, what 'do
you t'ink he does?" Spike laughed shortly, in professional scorn.
"Why--"
"Is this gentleman a friend of yours, Spennie?" inquired Lady
Julia politely, eying the red-haired speaker coldly.
"It's--" Spennie looked appealingly at Jimmy.
"It's my man," said Jimmy. "Spike," he added in an undertone, "to
the woods. Chase yourself. Fade away."
"Sure," said the abashed Spike. "Dat's right. It ain't up to me to
come buttin' in. Sorry, boss. Sorry, gents. Sorry loidy. Me for de
tall grass."
"There's a luggage-cart of sorts," said Lord Dreever, pointing.
"Sure," said Spike, affably. He trotted away.
"Jump in, Pitt," said Lord Dreever. "I'm going to walk."
"No, I'll walk," said Jimmy. "I'd rather. I want a bit of exercise.
Which way do I go?"
"Frightfully good of you, old chap," said Lord Dreever. "Sure you
don't mind? I do bar walking. Right-ho! You keep straight on."
He sat down in the tonneau by his aunt's side. The last Jimmy saw
was a hasty vision of him engaged in earnest conversation with Lady
Julia. He did not seem to be enjoying himself. Nobody is at his best
in conversation with a lady whom he knows to be possessed of a firm
belief in the weakness of his intellect. A prolonged conversation
with Lady Julia always made Lord Dreever feel as if he were being
tied into knots.
Jimmy watched them out of sight, and started to follow at a
leisurely pace. It certainly was an ideal afternoon for a country
walk. The sun was just hesitating whether to treat the time as
afternoon or evening. Eventually, it decided that it was evening,
and moderated its beams. After London, the country was deliciously
fresh and cool. Jimmy felt an unwonted content. It seemed to him
just then that the only thing worth doing in the world was to settle
down somewhere with three acres and a cow, and become pastoral.
There was a marked lack of traffic on the road. Once he met a cart,
and once a flock of sheep with a friendly dog. Sometimes, a rabbit