"It will be dead, then," said the Tyro.
"What's the little game? Some of your American rag-josh, I believe you call it?"
"Something of that nature," admitted the other.
"This will be a blow to Cissy," observed his lordship. "She's used to having 'em come to heel at the first whistle. I say, Mr. Daddleskink—"
"My name's not Daddleskink," the Tyro informed him morosely.
"I beg your pardon if I mispronounced it. How—"
"Smith," said the proprietor of that popular cognomen.
"I say," cried the Briton in vast surprise, "that's worse than our pronouncing 'Castelreagh' 'Derby' for short!"
"S-m-i-t-h, Smith. The other was a joke and a very bum one! Alexander Forsyth Smith from now on."
"Hullo! What price the Forsyth?" Lord Guenn regarded him with increased interest. "Did Miss Wayne say something about your having an interest in her house on the Battery?"