ou.
You haven't given me time or--or cause to think about it since. I'm--I'm
not ungrateful----"

"That's enough," broke in Leighton. "Let's stick to the point. It's a
lucky thing for the progress of the world that riches often take to the
wing. It may happen to any of us at any time. The amount of stupidity
that sweating humanity applies to the task of making a living is
colossal. In about a million years we'll learn that making a living
consists in knowing how to do well any necessary thing. It's harder for
a gentleman to make a living than for a farm-hand. But--come with me."

He took Lewis to a certain Mecca of mighty appetites in the Strand.
Before choosing a table, he made the round of the roasts, shoulders and
fowl. They were in great domed, silver salvers, each on a barrow, each
kept hot over lighted lamps.

Leighton seated himself and ordered.

"Now, boy, without staring take a good look at the man that does the
carving."

One of the barrows was trundled to their table. An attendant lifted the
domed cover with a flourish. With astounding rapidity the carver took an
even cut from the mighty round of beef, then another. The cover was
clapped on again, and the barrow trundled away.

"You saw him?" asked Leighton.

Lewis nodded.

"Well, that chap got through twenty thousand a year,--pounds, not
dollars,--capital and income, in just five years. After that he starved.
I know a man that lent him half a crown. The borrower said he'd live on
it for a week. Then he found out that, despite being a gentleman, there
was one little thing he could do well. He could make a roast duck fall
apart as though by magic, and he could handle a full-sized carving-knife
with the ease and the grace of a duchess handling a fan. Wow he's
getting eight hundred a year--pounds again--and all he can eat."

From the eating-house Leighton took Lewis to his club. He sought out a
small room that is called the smoking-room to this day, relic of an age
when smokers were still a race apart. In the corner sat an old man
reading. He was neatly dressed in black. Beside him was a decanter of
port.

Leighton led the way back to the lounge-room.

"Well, did you see him?"

"The old man?" said Lewis. "Yes, I saw him."

"That's Old Ivory," said Leighton. "He's an honorable. He was cursed by
the premature birth--to him--of several brothers. In other words, he's
that saddest of British institutions, a younger son. His brothers, the
other young