d. When
he was that cub's age--twenty-eight or whatever it might be--he had done
most things; been up Vesuvius, driven four-in-hand, lost his last penny
on the Derby and won it back on the Oaks, known all the dancers and
operatic stars of the day, fought a duel with a Yankee at Dieppe and
winged him for saying through his confounded nose that Old England was
played out; been a controlling voice already in his shipping firm; drunk
five other of the best men in London under the table; broken his neck
steeple-chasing; shot a burglar in the legs; been nearly drowned, for a
bet; killed snipe in Chelsea; been to Court for his sins; stared a ghost
out of countenance; and travelled with a lady of Spain. If this young
pup had done the last, it would be all he had; and yet, no doubt, he
would call himself a "spark."

The conductor touched his arm.

"'Ere you are, sir."

"Thank you."

He lowered himself to the ground, and moved in the bluish darkness
towards the gate of his daughter's house. Bob Pillin walked beside him,
thinking: 'Poor old josser, he is gettin' a back number!' And he said:
"I should have thought you ought to drive, sir. My old guv'nor would
knock up at once if he went about at night like this."

The answer rumbled out into the misty air:

"Your father's got no chest; never had."

Bob Pillin gave vent to one of those fat cackles which come so readily
from a certain type of man; and old Heythorp thought:

'Laughing at his father! Parrot!'

They had reached the porch.

A woman with dark hair and a thin, straight face and figure was arranging
some flowers in the hall. She turned and said:

"You really ought not to be so late, Father! It's wicked at this time of
year. Who is it--oh! Mr. Pillin, how do you do? Have you had tea?
Won't you come to the drawing-room; or do you want to see my father?"

"Tha-anks! I believe your father--" And he thought: 'By Jove! the old
chap is a caution!' For old Heythorp was crossing the hall without
having paid the faintest attention to his daughter. Murmuring again:

"Tha-anks awfully; he wants to give me something," he followed. Miss
Heythorp was not his style at all; he had a kind of dread of that thin
woman who looked as if she could never be unbuttoned. They said she was
a great churchgoer and all that sort of thing.

In his sanctum old Heythorp had moved to his writing-table, and was
evidently anxious to sit down.

"Shall I give you a hand, sir?"