, with a propitiatory smile on his face, stood his
lordship of Dreever.

"My uncle told me I should find you out here. What have you got in
there, Pitt? Is this what you feed them on? I say, you know, queer
coves, hens! I wouldn't touch that stuff for a fortune, what? Looks
to me poisonous."

He met Jimmy's eye, and stopped. There was that in Jimmy's eye that
would have stopped an avalanche. His lordship twiddled his fingers
in pink embarrassment.

"Oh, look!" said Molly. "There's a poor little chicken out there in
the cold. It hasn't had a morsel. Give me the spoon, Mr. Pitt. Here,
chick, chick! Don't be silly, I'm not going to hurt you. I've
brought you your dinner."

She moved off in pursuit of the solitary fowl, which had edged
nervously away. Lord Dreever bent toward Jimmy.

"Frightfully sorry, Pitt, old man," he whispered, feverishly.
"Didn't want to come. Couldn't help it. He sent me out." He
half-looked over his shoulder. "And," he added rapidly, as Molly came
back, "the old boy's up at his bedroom window now, watching us
through his opera-glasses!"

The return journey to the house was performed in silence--on Jimmy's
part, in thoughtful silence. He thought hard, and he had been
thinking ever since.

He had material for thought. That Lord Dreever was as clay in his
uncle's hands he was aware. He had not known his lordship long, but
he had known him long enough to realize that a backbone had been
carelessly omitted from his composition. What his uncle directed,
that would he do. The situation looked bad to Jimmy. The order, he
knew, had gone out that Lord Dreever was to marry money. And Molly
was an heiress. He did not know how much Mr. McEachern had amassed
in his dealings with New York crime, but it must be something
considerable. Things looked black.

Then, Jimmy had a reaction. He was taking much for granted. Lord
Dreever might be hounded into proposing to Molly, but what earthly
reason was there for supposing that Molly would accept him? He
declined even for an instant to look upon Spennie's title in the
light of a lure. Molly was not the girl to marry for a title. He
endeavored to examine impartially his lordship's other claims. He
was a pleasant fellow, with--to judge on short acquaintanceship--an
undeniably amiable disposition. That much must be conceded. But
against this must be placed the equally undeniable fact that he was
also, as he would have put it himself, a most frightful ass. He was