"That's all right," replied Jack, cheerfully. "I'll be up to bed soon," he informed the others and ran down stairs again.
"Will you have a cigarette?" asked the English lad, holding out a box.
"Thanks, but I don't smoke," answered Ned, who had pulled off his boots and was wrestling with his shirt. Finally it came over his head. He lay down in his underclothing, having first gingerly turned back the blanket to the foot.
"I don't desire to be personal," said the broken-down swell. "You'll excuse me, but I must say you're a finely built man. You understand me? No offence!"
"He is big," chipped in the youth.
"You don't offend a man much by telling him he's well built," retorted
Ned, with an attempt at mirth.
"Certainly. You understand me. It's not the size, my boy"—to the youth. "Size is nothing. It's the proportion, the capacity for putting out strength. I've been an athlete myself and I'm no chicken yet. But our friend here ought to be a Hercules. Will you take a drink? You'll excuse the glass." He offered Ned a flask half full of whisky.
"Thanks just the same but I never drink," answered Ned, stretching himself carelessly. The lad refused also.
"You're wise, both of you," commented the other, swallowing down a couple of mouthfuls of the undiluted liquor. "If I'd never touched it I should have been a wealthy man to-day. But I shall be a wealthy man yet. You understand me?"
"Yes," answered Ned, mechanically. He was looking at the frank, open, intelligent face and well-made limbs of the half-naked lad opposite and wondering what he was doing here with this grizzled drunkard. The said grizzled drunkard being the broken-down swell, whose highly-coloured face, swollen nose and slobbery eyes told a tale that his slop-made clothes would have concealed. "How old are you?" he asked the lad, the drunkard having fallen asleep in the middle of a discourse concerning a great invention which would bring him millions.