CHAPTER XXIV
Mr. Giveen, left alone in Mr. Dashwood's chambers, took a comfortable seat in an arm-chair and gazed around him.
He felt that he had fallen on his feet. He had extracted two bottles of ginger-beer, some biscuits, and a drive in a taxicab from his new-found friend. He was going to extract a dinner. He was about to have his revenge on French. All these things combined to cast him into a pleasant and amused state of mind, and he looked with satisfaction at all the evidences of well-being around him.
Then he got up and began a circuit of the room, looking at the prints on the wall, examining his own face in the looking-glass, touching the boxing-gloves and foils. Then he examined the writing-table. Fortunately there were no letters with Mr. Dashwood's name on them, and when he had turned over the books and taken another peep at himself in the glass he resumed his seat, and presently fell into a doze which deepened into slumber.
He had slept like this for some three-quarters of an hour, when he was awakened by the entry of his new friend.
"Well," said Bobby in a cheerful voice. "How are you getting along? Been asleep, hey? Now, look here, I want you to come out to dinner with me."
"Right you are," said Mr. Giveen, rubbing his eyes. "I'm with you—hay yow!—I'm half moidhered with all me travelling. And what's become of Miss What's-her-name?"
"She—oh, we're going to meet her at dinner. She's gone on in her motor-car."
"So she keeps a motor-car, does she?" said Mr. Giveen, rising and pulling down his waistcoat.
"Rather! She keeps two. Why, she has half a million of money of her own. And, look here," said the artful Bobby, "I'm only taking you to dinner with her on one condition."