“That’s right,” said Jimmy. “We’ll go into society, Spike, hand in
hand. You’ll be a terrific success in society. All you have to do is
to look cheerful, brush your hair, and keep your hands off the
spoons. For in the best circles they invariably count them after the
departure of the last guest.”
“Sure,” said Spike, as one who thoroughly understood this sensible
precaution.
“And, now,” said Jimmy, “we’ll be turning in. Can you manage
sleeping on the sofa one night? Some fellows would give their bed up
to you. Not me, however. I’ll have a bed made up for you tomorrow.”
“Me!” said Spike. “Gee! I’ve been sleepin’ in de Park all de last
week. Dis is to de good, boss.”
CHAPTER XI
AT THE TURN OF THE ROAD
Next morning, when Jimmy, having sent Spike off to the tailor’s,
with instructions to get a haircut en route, was dealing with a
combination of breakfast and luncheon at his flat, Lord Dreever
called.
“Thought I should find you in,” observed his lordship. “Well,
laddie, how goes it? Having breakfast? Eggs and bacon! Great Scott!
I couldn’t touch a thing.”
The statement was borne out by his looks. The son of a hundred earls
was pale, and his eyes were markedly fish-like.
“A fellow I’ve got stopping with me–taking him down to Dreever with
me to-day–man I met at the club–fellow named Hargate. Don’t know
if you know him? No? Well, he was still up when I got back last
night, and we stayed up playing billiards–he’s rotten at billiards;
something frightful: I give him twenty–till five this morning. I
feel fearfully cheap. Wouldn’t have got up at all, only I’m due to
catch the two-fifteen down to Dreever. It’s the only good train.” He
dropped into a chair.
“Sorry you don’t feel up to breakfast,” said Jimmy, helping himself
to marmalade. “I am generally to be found among those lining up when
the gong goes. I’ve breakfasted on a glass of water and a bag of
bird-seed in my time. That sort of thing makes you ready to take
whatever you can get. Seen the paper?”
“Thanks.”
Jimmy finished his breakfast, and lighted a pipe. Lord Dreever laid
down the paper.
“I say,” he said, “what I came round about was this. What have you
got on just now?”
Jimmy had imagined that his friend had dropped in to return the
five-pound note he had borrowed, but his lordship maintained a
complete reserve on the subject. Jimmy was to discover later that
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