walking all the way back with him if he were a nobody? And no fool
either--carried just enough money to get him a bit to eat and a pint,
when he wanted them--while there was that great oaf Jem Simcoe lying
with his broken head which he was fool enough to trust within reach of
such a man's cudgel. "Sarve him right," said Mr. Wormit. If Jem had
known what Mr. Wormit knew, or a tenth part of it, he would have made
sure that he had not the ghost of a chance with such a man.

So Kennedy and his dangling cowries, his corded kersey-mere shorts, his
blue knitted hose and silver buckles, had honour in Loafer Land, and
every hulking rascal who carried the pattern of the ornamental
wrought-iron posts at the gates of the "Green Dragon" yard permanently
imprinted in the small of his back, swore by him just as much as did
Wormit the landlord. They saluted him as he went to and fro. They pulled
forelocks and touched caps, feeling elated when the great man growled at
them and ordered them by his gods to get out of his way. They knew how a
gentleman ought to speak, and (though the accent was a little peculiar)
Kennedy McClure's way was that way.

And during these spring weeks there is no doubt that the landlord had a
great deal of reason for his opinion of his guest. Kennedy went every
day to the Lodge. He arrived there early and Patsy met him, equipped for
a walk, rain or shine, sleet or brooding river-fog--it made no matter to
Patsy.

The two set off into the park, where they talked for a couple of
hours--indeed till the approach of the luncheon hour warned them that
the Princess, having descended, might be expected to miss her young
companion. Patsy clung to the old man's sturdy arm, and certainly
Kennedy's bachelor heart beat the kindlier, if not the faster, for the
pressure. He was a most reassuring confidant and never took a hopeless
view of anything.

"There's more ways o' killing a cat than choking her wi' cream!" he was
in the habit of saying. "The craw doesna bigg his nest wi' yae strae!"
"It tak's mair than a score o' yowes to stock a muir!" "Bide a wile--God
made a' thing for something--even lasses!"

Nevertheless these were hard days for Patsy. Life at the Lodge was
becoming extremely complex. Prince Eitel in his pervading way took a
great deal too much for granted. He had received a letter from her Uncle
Julian giving him every encouragement, and as he had not heard from her
father, he was meditating a ride to the N