d
remember. It was the contempt of the man of action for the man of
activities, and it was probably reciprocated. Lucas was an over-well
nourished individual, some nine years Basset's senior, with a colouring
that would have been accepted as a sign of intensive culture in an
asparagus, but probably meant in this case mere abstention from exercise.
His hair and forehead furnished a recessional note in a personality that
was in all other respects obtrusive and assertive. There was certainly
no Semitic blood in Lucas's parentage, but his appearance contrived to
convey at least a suggestion of Jewish extraction. Clovis Sangrail, who
knew most of his associates by sight, said it was undoubtedly a case of
protective mimicry.

Two days after Basset's return, Lucas frisked in to lunch in a state of
twittering excitement that could not be restrained even for the immediate
consideration of soup, but had to be verbally discharged in spluttering
competition with mouthfuls of vermicelli.

"I've got hold of an idea for something immense," he babbled, "something
that is simply It."

Basset gave a short laugh that would have done equally well as a snort,
if one had wanted to make the exchange. His half-brother was in the
habit of discovering futilities that were "simply It" at frequently
recurring intervals. The discovery generally meant that he flew up to
town, preceded by glowingly-worded telegrams, to see some one connected
with the stage or the publishing world, got together one or two momentous
luncheon parties, flitted in and out of "Gambrinus" for one or two
evenings, and returned home with an air of subdued importance and the
asparagus tint slightly intensified. The great idea was generally
forgotten a few weeks later in the excitement of some new discovery.

"The inspiration came to me whilst I was dressing," announced Lucas; "it
will be _the_ thing in the next music-hall _revue_. All London will go
mad over it. It's just a couplet; of course there will be other words,
but they won't matter. Listen:

Cousin Teresa takes out Caesar,
Fido, Jock, and the big borzoi.

A lifting, catchy sort of refrain, you see, and big-drum business on the
two syllables of bor-zoi. It's immense. And I've thought out all the
business of it; the singer will sing the first verse alone, then during
the second verse Cousin Teresa will walk through, followed by four wooden
dogs on wheels; Caesar will be an Irish terrier, Fido a