CHAPTER XI
AT THE TURN OF THE ROAD
NEXT morning, when Jimmy, having sent Spike off to the tailor's, with instructions to get a haircut en route, was dealing with a combination of breakfast and luncheon at his flat, Lord Dreever called.
"Thought I should find you in," observed his lordship. "Well, laddie, how goes it? Having breakfast? Eggs and bacon! Great Scott! I couldn't touch a thing."
The statement was borne out by his looks. The son of a hundred earls was pale, and his eyes were markedly fish-like.
"A fellow I've got stopping with me—taking him down to Dreever with me to-day—man I met at the club—fellow named Hargate. Don't know if you know him? No? Well, he was still up when I got back last night, and we stayed up playing billiards—he's rotten at billiards; something frightful: I give him twenty—till five this morning. I feel fearfully cheap. Wouldn't have got up at all, only I'm due to catch the two-fifteen down to Dreever. It's the only good train." He dropped into a chair.
"Sorry you don't feel up to breakfast," said Jimmy, helping himself to marmalade. "I am
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