“What did that guy say?” he exclaimed. 40
“I forgot to tell you I’m a Viscount,” replied Cholmondeley.
“Gee, what’s that?”
“It’s a title conferred on one of my ancestors for something he did for his king. But it’s not of the least importance.”
Jim felt nervous. He wished he might have fallen through the earth before suggesting that he should become a member of a club of this sort. Cholmondeley was mildly amused. He had fought tooth and nail against the prejudices of some of the blue bloods, who had never heard of James Conlan in their lives and had looked him up in Burke in vain. Cholmondeley, half-way through his adventure, was beginning to enjoy it. He had come to like Jim immensely, though the latter’s speech at times wounded his tender susceptibilities.
“My deah fellah, we have a stormy—ah—passage to weather. If I may be allowed to tender a little advice, don’t talk too much—yet.”
Jim’s brows clouded.
“I get you. They won’t like my kind of chin-music?” 41
“They certainly will not. Let us now have a drink to celebrate this extraordinary occasion.”
They were sitting in the lounge when a boy came in with a telegram.