"He's an old humbug!" whispered Charlie to Moira.
"Hush!—he's poor—and he's old; the world hasn't treated him well perhaps," she whispered gently.
"And that reminds me," exclaimed Ditchburn, looking round at them with a smile, and beginning to fumble in his pockets. "I met a man to-day—another friend—now, where did I put that paper?—one who was with us in the old days. Is there anyone here who remembers Jimmy—Jimmy Larrance?"
Moira and Charlie cried out at once; looked at each other quickly. "You've found Jimmy?" they exclaimed in a breath.
"Yes. I was in a place of which I don't suppose you know anything—the reading-room of the British Museum; only persons of some culture can gain admittance there, I am given to understand; and a man came up to me, and spoke my name. I imagined at first it must be someone who had heard of me, or of my work; fame travels, you know. Then I looked at him more closely, and there was something familiar—strangely familiar, I may say——"
"Yes—yes—it was Jimmy!" exclaimed Moira.
"It was Jimmy!" exclaimed Anthony, letting them into the secret with a burst. "I don't know how he's living exactly, but he's got a sort of idea that he can write. He gave me this—I presume as a specimen; it contains a rather foolish piece of fiction from his pen. Curious how one with no particular learning or experience will attempt these things," he added, spreading out the paper on his knee, and searching among its pages. "I never heard that Jimmy had been to a university, or was even moderately acquainted with the classics. I haven't attempted to read it myself, except for the opening sentences."
Moira had eagerly snatched the paper from him; with a glowing face she held it out, so that Charlie might look over her shoulder. For there was the thing in print; there were the wonderful words—"By James Larrance," underneath the title. And then a name caught the eyes of the girl, and she gasped, and looked quickly at Charlie.
"He's called one of his girls 'Moira,'" said Charlie, with a laugh. "So he hasn't forgotten you."
"Of course not," said Moira, scanning the paper eagerly. She turned to Ditchburn, quickly. "Do you know where he is?—where he lives?"