"Well, Razors," he said at last, "and wot do you think of the Harden
Library?"

Rickman was discreet. "Oh, it isn't bad for a private show. Sir
Frederick doesn't seem to have been much of a collector."

"Wasn't he, though! In his own line he was a pretty considerable
collector, quite a what d'you call 'em--virtuoso."

"Not very much virtue about him, I imagine."

"Well, whatever there may have been, in ten years that joker went
through his capital as if it had been a paper hoop. Slap through it
and out at the other side, on his feet, grinning at you."

"How did he manage it?"

"Cards--horses--women--everything you can name," said Dicky, "that's
amusing, and at the same time expensive. They're precious slow down
here in the country; but get 'em up to town, and there's nothing like
'em for going the pace, when they _do_ go it."

"His velocity must have been something tremendous, to judge by the
smash." Rickman was looking at the financial agent with an expression
which some people might have been inclined to resent, but Dicky's
gaiety was proof against criticism.

"What did he die of?" Rickman asked slowly.

"What a beastly question to ask at dinner. He died, like most people,
of his way of living. If Freddy Harden had had opportunities equal to
his talents he would have smashed up ten years ago. Talent wasn't the
word for it, it was genius--genius."

"I see. And when you come across a poor struggling devil with a gift
like that, you long to be kind to him, don't you? To bring him
forward, to remove every obstacle to his career?"

"Well, yes, I suppose I did run Harden for all he was worth. Queer
fish, Harden. He used to rave like a lunatic about his daughter; but I
don't suppose he spent a fiver on her in his life. It's pretty rough
on her, this business. But Loocher'll do. She's got cheek enough for
half a dozen." Dicky chuckled at the memory of his discomfiture. "I
like it. I like a girl with some bounce in her. Trust her to fall on
her little tootsies anywhere you drop her."

"I can't say you've made the falling very easy for her."

Dicky's bright face clouded. "Wot the devil has that got to do with
me? I've done _my_ level best. Why, I could have cleaned them out
years ago, if I'd chosen. Now, just to show you what sort of fellow
Freddy Harden was--last time I ever saw him, poor chap, he told me
that girl of his was a regular musical genius, just a little more
technique, you know, and she'd beat Pade