discouraged," Felixstowe replied, "and the
mater's got something up her sleeve for you. But placing their own
interests in the background, as my revered sire pointed out, it is
certainly, in his opinion, up to you to find me a job."

"You can go into the office and file letters, at three pounds a week,
whenever you like," Jacob suggested.

The young man picked himself up in hurt fashion.

"See whether we win our heat this afternoon against the Crimson
Sashes," he said. "I've a couple of ponies on, which ought to keep me
going till Thursday, if we win. Shall I tool you down to Ranelagh, old
chap?"

"What, in the bassinet I saw you in yesterday? There were three
policemen running down St. James's Street after you."

"I can make her rip," the young man promised. "Come on."

"Not I!" Jacob replied, with a shudder. "Besides, you'd expect me to
pay the fines."

"So long, then," Felixstowe concluded, as he picked up his hat and
turned to go. "Keep your weather eye open. If I lose the match, I'll
probably drop in for that post."

The young man, after a violent series of explosions from his
reluctantly started engine, shot into Pall Mall and disappeared in a
cloud of smoke. Jacob watched him from the window with a smile upon
his lips. When he resumed his seat, however, the smile had vanished.
He sat with his head resting upon his left hand, idly sketching upon a
corner of the blotting pad. Presently he rang the bell for Dauncey.

"Dick," he said, "Lord Felixstowe has just brought me a warning."

"A warning," Dauncey repeated.

"It appears," Jacob went on, "that in the course of various
insignificant adventures which have occurred to me during the last few
months, I have made enemies. Mr. Dane Montague, Philip Mason, and Joe
Hartwell are out on the warpath against me."

"Financially?" Dauncey asked, with an incredulous smile.

Jacob shook his head.

"I think they've had enough of that. According to Felixstowe, they're
plotting something a little lower down. Keep an eye on me, Dick, if
beautiful woman inveigles, or a ragged messenger from a starving
father tries to lure me into the slums."

Dauncey declined to take the matter lightly.

"You haven't a thing to do for four days," he remarked. "Why don't you
go down to Marlingden and see how the new 'Mrs. Fitzpatricks' are
blooming?"

"It's an idea, Dick," Jacob declared. "I'm sick of town, anyway.
Telephone Mrs. Harris and say I'm coming, and order the car arou