"Where they had a bar?"
"Precisely. A bar with a fetching girl in it."
"It wouldn't work," said Andrew firmly. "I remember what happened when I landed you at Douglas—and a poaching escapade with some Creetown quarrymen on the same cruise. You have a talent for getting into trouble. Well, if you won't come with me, I'll have to make Appleyard my headquarters for a time."
"I hope you will," Dick replied with feeling. "Has it ever struck you that Appleyard might be yours?"
Andrew's face grew stern.
"Appleyard belongs to you and, what's more, you belong to it. It's your duty to pull yourself together and take care of the estate, to marry and bring up your children to be a credit to your name. Instead, you're dragging it in the dirt, making shabby betting men and turf sharpers your friends, and, I'm half afraid, getting into speculative money-lenders' hands."
Dick winced and Andrew saw that his random shot had scored.
"If you're in difficulties, I might raise a hundred pounds or so," he went on. "If, as I suspect, that isn't half enough, we'll go and see Mackellar before you get in too deep."
Mackellar was the acting executor of Dick's father's will.
"I'll think over it," Dick answered; and there was something that puzzled Andrew in his expression.