ok his head.

"I guess not," he said. "It's good of you, but commercial
speculation never was in my line. I'm afraid you must count me out
of this."

"What! You're going to tell--?"

"No," said Jimmy, "I'm not. I'm not a vigilance committee. I won't
tell a soul."

'"Why, then--" began Hargate, relieved.

"Unless, of course," Jimmy went on, "you play billiards again while
you're here."

Hargate stared.

"But, damn it, man, if I don't, what's the good--? Look here. What
am I to do if they ask me to play?"

"Give your wrist as an excuse."

"My wrist?"

"Yes. You sprained it to-morrow after breakfast. It was bad luck. I
wonder how you came to do it. You didn't sprain it much, but just
enough to stop you playing billiards."

Hargate reflected.

"Understand?" said Jimmy.

"Oh, very well," said Hargate, sullenly. "But," he burst out, "if I
ever get a chance to get even with you--"

"You won't," said Jimmy. "Dismiss the rosy dream. Get even! You
don't know me. There's not a flaw in my armor. I'm a sort of modern
edition of the stainless knight. Tennyson drew Galahad from me. I
move through life with almost a sickening absence of sin. But hush!
We are observed. At least, we shall be in another minute. Somebody
is coming down the passage. You do understand, don't you? Sprained
wrist is the watchword."

The handle turned. It was Lord Dreever, back again, from his
interview.

"Hullo, Dreever," said Jimmy. "We've missed you. Hargate has been
doing his best to amuse me with acrobatic tricks. But you're too
reckless, Hargate, old man. Mark my words, one of these days you'll
be spraining your wrist. You should be more careful. What, going?
Good-night. Pleasant fellow, Hargate," he added, as the footsteps
retreated down, the passage. "Well, my lad, what's the matter with
you? You look depressed."

Lord Dreever flung himself on to the lounge, and groaned hollowly.

"Damn! Damn!! Damn!!!" he observed.

His glassy eye met Jimmy's, and wandered away again.

"What on earth's the matter?" demanded Jimmy. "You go out of here
caroling like a song-bird, and you come back moaning like a lost
soul. What's happened?"

"Give me a brandy-and-soda, Pitt, old man. There's a good chap. I'm
in a fearful hole."

"Why? What's the matter?"

"I'm engaged," groaned his lordship.

"Engaged! I wish you'd explain. What on earth's wrong with you?
Don't you want to be engaged? What's your--?"

He broke off, as a sudden, awful