out, was the confoundedly awkward part of it. His engagement had been so sudden. Jill had swept into his life like a comet. His mother knew nothing of her. A month ago he had known nothing of her himself. It would, he perceived, as far as the benevolent approval of Lady Underhill was concerned, have been an altogether different matter had his choice fallen upon one of those damsels whose characters, personality, and ancestry she knew. Daughters of solid and useful men; sisters of rising young politicians like himself; nieces of Burke’s peerage; he could have introduced without embarrassment one of these in the role of bride-elect. But Jill … Oh, well, when once his mother had met Jill, everything was sure to be all right. Nobody could resist Jill. It would be like resisting the sunshine. 

 Somewhat comforted by this reflection, Derek turned to begin one more walk along the platform, and stopped in mid-stride, raging. Beaming over the collar of a plaid greatcoat, all helpfulness and devotion, Freddie Rooke was advancing towards him, the friend that sticketh closer than a brother. Like some loving dog, who, ordered home, sneaks softly on through alleys and by-ways, peeping round corners and crouching behind lamp-posts, the faithful Freddie had followed him after all. And with him, to add the last touch to Derek’s discomfiture, were those two inseparable allies of his, Ronny Devereux and Algy Martyn. 

 “Well, old thing,” said Freddie, patting Derek encouragingly on the shoulder, “here we are after all! I know you told me not to roll round and so forth, but I knew you didn’t mean it. I thought it over after you had left, and decided it would be a rotten trick not to cluster about you in your hour of need. I hope you don’t mind Ronny and Algy breezing along, too. The fact is, I was in the deuce of a funk—your jolly old mater always rather paralyzes my nerve-centers, you know—so I roped them in. Met ’em in Piccadilly, groping about for the club, and conscripted ’em both, they very decently consenting. We all toddled off and had a pick-me-up at that chemist chappie’s at the top of the Hay-market, and now we’re feeling full of beans and buck, ready for anything. I’ve explained the whole thing to them, and they’re with you to the death! Collect a gang, dear boy, collect a gang! That’s the motto. There’s nothing like it!” 

 “Nothing!” said Ronny. 

 “Absolutely nothing!” said Algy. 

 “We’ll just see you through the opening stages,” said Freddie, “and then leg it. We’ll keep the conversation general, you know.” 

 Prev. P 9/312 next