It was near noon the next day, and Freddy Bootle was still in bed, when some one knocked at his door, and Captain Lennox entered the room, looking well, but lugubrious.
"Not up yet!" he said, in anything but a cheerful voice. "I breakfasted three hours ago."
"My head is like a lump of lead," moaned Freddy, "and my tongue is as dry as a parrot's."
"Have you any soda; and where's your liqueur-case? I'll concoct you a dose that will soon put you right."
"You'll find lots of things in the other room: but Lennox, how fresh you look. You might never have had a headache in your life."
"You are not so well seasoned as I am," returned Captain Lennox. "What business do you suppose has brought me here?"
"Not the remotest idea; unless it be to gaze on the wretched object before you."
"Oh, you'll be well enough in an hour or two. Are you aware that I had my pocket picked of my purse while in your company last night--or, rather, early this morning?"
Mr. Bootle stared at his friend in blank surprise, but said nothing.
"It contained all the cash I had with me," continued the Captain; "and I must ask you to lend me a few pounds to pay my hotel bill and carry me home."