But Eames was not so widely awake to the importance of his friend's adventures as he might have been had he not been weighted with adventures of his own.
"I shouldn't care so much," said he, "about that fellow Crosbie going to a friend, as I should about his going to a police magistrate."
"He'll put it in a friend's hands, of course," said Cradell, with the air of a man who from experience was well up in such matters. "And I suppose you'll naturally come to me. It's a deuced bore to a man in a public office, and all that kind of thing, of course. But I'm not the man to desert my friend. I'll stand by you, Johnny, my boy."
"Oh, thank you," said Eames, "I don't think that I shall want that."
"You must be ready with a friend, you know."
"I should write down to a man I know in the country, and ask his advice," said Eames; "an older sort of friend, you know."
"By Jove, old fellow, take care what you're about. Don't let them say of you that you show the white feather. Upon my honour, I'd sooner have anything said of me than that. I would, indeed,—anything."
"I'm not afraid of that," said Eames, with a touch of scorn in his voice. "There isn't much thought about white feathers now-a-days,—not in the way of fighting duels."
After that, Cradell managed to carry back the conversation to Mrs. Lupex and his own peculiar position, and as Eames did not care to ask from his companion further advice in his own matters, he listened nearly in silence till they reached Burton Crescent.
"I hope you found the noble earl well," said Mrs. Roper to him, as soon as they were all seated at dinner.