s and waved his hand joyously to Jacob.

"Forty-seven minutes, my revered chief!" he exclaimed, as he
approached, waving a missive in his hand. "See what it is to have some
one amongst your bodyguard who can perform miracles!"

"What have you brought?" Jacob asked.

"A cable! Dauncey thought I had better bring it down."

Jacob read it, and read it over again. It was a dispatch from New
York, handed in that morning:

Regret to say your brother seriously ill. Should be deeply
grateful if you would expedite your proposed visit. Am
urgently in need of advice and help. Please come Saturday's
steamer if possible.

Sydney Morse, Secretary.

Jacob folded up the dispatch and placed it in his breast pocket. Then
he suddenly remembered the girl.

"Felix," he said, "let me present you to Miss Haslem. Lord
Felixstowe--Miss Haslem."

The two young people exchanged the customary greetings. The girl began
to apologise for her hair. Her cup of happiness was very nearly
filled. And then Jacob dashed it to the ground.

"I want you to take me back to town as soon as you've had a drink," he
intervened, addressing the young man. "We sail for America to-morrow."

CHAPTER XXIV

Felixstowe carefully concluded the enfolding of Jacob's outstretched
form in an enormous rug, placed a tumbler of soda water and some dry
biscuits within easy reach of him, and stepped back to inspect his
handiwork.

"A bit drawn about the gills, old top," he remarked sympathetically.
"How are you feeling now?"

"Better," Jacob murmured weakly. "And kindly remember that I am your
employer, and don't call me 'old top.'"

"Sorry," was the cheerful reply. "One has to drop into this sort of
thing by degrees. I've a kind of naturally affectionate disposition,
you know, when I'm with a pal."

"Get your typewriter and practise," Jacob directed. "I'll try and give
you a letter."

"So to the daily toil," the young man chanted, as he turned away.
"I've got the little beauty in the saloon."

Jacob groaned and closed his eyes, for the motion of the steamer, two
days out of Liverpool for New York, still awoke revolutionary symptoms
in his interior. Presently Felixstowe returned, carrying a small
typewriter. He arranged himself in the adjoining chair, drew up his
knees, took out the typewriter from its case, and, with his pipe in
the corner of his mouth, sat waiting.

"Ready," he announced.

"Oh, damn!" Jacob