After a moment’s reflection the other grinned, howbeit faintly.
“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. 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.”
XI
At the Turn of the Road
On the morning after the meeting at the Savoy when Jimmy, having sent Spike off to the tailor’s, was dealing with a combination of breakfast and lunch 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 Scot, 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 fishlike.
“A fellow I’ve got stopping with me—taking him down to Dreever with me today—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 pills—he’s rotten at pills; something frightful; I give him thirty—till five this morning. I feel frightfully 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 birdseed in my time. That sort of thing makes you ready to take whatever you can get. Seen the papers?”
“Thanks.”
Jimmy finished his breakfast and lit 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.
“Today, 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 seeing 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’t you catch the two-fifteen? It’s fearfully short notice.”
“Heavens, yes. I can pack in ten minutes. Thanks very much.”
“Stout fellow. There’ll be shooting and all that sort of rot. Oh! by the way, are you any good at acting? I mean, I believe there are going to be private theatricals of sorts. A man called Charteris is getting them up. Cambridge man; belongs to the Footlights. 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. He 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 forget 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 clothing-store’s a willy wonder, sure. De old mug what showed me round give me de frozen face when I came in foist. ‘What’s doin’?’ he says. ‘To de woods wit you! git de hook!’ But I hands 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.
