udden thought occurred to Jimmy. Spike! He had forgotten Spike
for the moment. It was vital that the Bowery boy should not be lost
sight of again. He was the one link with the little house somewhere
beyond One Hundred and Fiftieth Street. He could not leave the
Bowery boy at the flat. A vision rose in his mind of Spike alone in
London, with Savoy Mansions as a base for his operations. No, Spike
must be transplanted to the country. But Jimmy could not seem to see
Spike in the country. His boredom would probably be pathetic. But it
was the only way.

Lord Dreever facilitated matters.

"By the way, Pitt," he said, "you've got a man of sorts, of course?
One of those frightful fellows who forgot to pack your collars?
Bring him along, of course."

"Thanks," said Jimmy. "I will."

The matter had scarcely been settled when the door opened, and
revealed the subject of discussion. Wearing a broad grin of mingled
pride and bashfulness, and looking very stiff and awkward in one of
the brightest tweed suits ever seen off the stage, Spike stood for a
moment in the doorway to let his appearance sink into the spectator,
then advanced into the room.

"How do dese strike you, boss?" he inquired genially, as Lord
Dreever gaped in astonishment at this bright being.

"Pretty nearly blind, Spike," said Jimmy. "What made you get those?
We use electric light here."

Spike was full of news.

"Say, boss, dat clothin'-store's a willy wonder, sure. De old mug
what showed me round give me de frozen face when I come in foist.
'What's doin'?' he says. 'To de woods wit' you. Git de hook!' But I
hauls out de plunks you give me, an' tells him how I'm here to get a
dude suit, an', gee! if he don't haul out suits by de mile. Give me
a toist, it did, watching him. 'It's up to youse,' says de mug.
'Choose somet'in'. You pays de money, an' we does de rest.' So, I
says dis is de one, an' I put down de plunks, an' here I am, boss."

"I noticed that, Spike," said Jimmy. "I could see you in the dark."

"Don't you like de duds, boss?" inquired Spike, anxiously.

"They're great," said Jimmy. "You'd make Solomon in all his glory
look like a tramp 'cyclist."

"Dat's right," agreed Spike. "Dey'se de limit."

And, apparently oblivious to the presence of Lord Dreever, who had
been watching him in blank silence since his entrance, the Bowery
boy proceeded to execute a mysterious shuffling dance on the carpet.

This was too much for the overwrought brai