The statement was borne out by his looks. The son of a hundred earls was pale, and his eyes were markedly fish-like.
“A fellow I’ve got stopping with me—taking him down to Dreever with me to-day—man I met at the club—fellow named Hargate. Don’t know if you know him? No? Well, he was still up when I got back last night, and we stayed up playing pills—he’s rotten at pills; something frightful; I give him thirty—till five this morning. I feel frightfully cheap. Wouldn’t have got up at all, only I’m due to catch the two-fifteen down to Dreever. It’s the only good train.”
He dropped into a chair.
“Sorry you don’t feel up to breakfast,” said Jimmy, helping himself to marmalade. “I am generally to be found among those lining up when the gong goes. I’ve breakfasted on a glass of water and a bag of bird-seed in my time. That sort of thing makes you ready to take whatever you can get. Seen the papers?”
“Thanks.”
Jimmy finished his breakfast and lit a pipe. Lord Dreever laid down the paper.
“I say,” he said, “what I came round about was this. What have you got on just now?”
Jimmy had imagined that his friend had dropped in to return the five-pound note he had borrowed, but his lordship maintained a complete reserve on the subject. Jimmy was to discover later that this weakness of memory where financial obligations were concerned was a leading trait in Lord Dreever’s character.
“To-day, do you mean?” said Jimmy.
“Well, in the near future. What I mean is, why not put off that Japan trip you spoke about and come down to Dreever with me?”