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"It's a protest," explained Raymond Ironsyde. "To have gone, after being publicly outraged like this in my father's will, was impossible to anybody but a cur. He ignored me as his son, and so I ignore him as my father; and who wouldn't?" "I suppose Daniel will come up to the scratch all right?" hazarded Motyer. "He'll make some stuffy suggestion, no doubt. He can't see me in the gutter very well."

Motyer, remembering Raymond's recent snub, was exceedingly charming to Sabina. He stopped and chatted another five minutes, then mentioned the smoking concert again and so took his departure. Raymond spoke slightingly of him when he had gone. "He's no good, really," he said. "An utter waster and only a hanger-on of sport can't do anything himself but talk.

And Mister Daniel's brother, Mister Raymond's, come to it to learn the business. He is a cure!" "He's over there now," said Job, waving his hand in the direction of 'The Tiger. "Drinking port wine he is with that young sport, Motyer, and others like him. I don't like Motyer's face. He's a shifty chap, and a thorn in his family's side by all accounts.

Then he went to see a boxer, who was training with Mr. Gurd, and presently when Neddy Motyer appeared, he turned into the billiard room and there killed some hours before the time of the smoking concert.

But if what you say is right and Mister Raymond has been left out in the cold, then I think he's been badly used." "So he has it's a damned shame," said Mr. Motyer, "and I hope Ray will do something about it." "There's very little we can do against the writing of the dead," answered Mr. Gurd. Then he saluted a man who bustled into the bar. "Morning, Job. What's the trouble?"

There was only one subject for discussion in his mind. "I suppose you thought I should go to my father's funeral? No doubt, you'll say, with everybody else, that it's a disgrace I haven't." "I shall mind my own business and say nothing, Mister Raymond. It's your affair, not ours." "I'd have done the same, Ray, if I'd been treated the same," said Neddy Motyer.

Meantime Raymond and Sabina, on their way to Miss Ironsyde, were met by Mr. Neddy Motyer. Neddy had not seen his friend for some time and now saluted and stopped. It was nearly dark and they stood under a lamp-post. "Cheero!" said Mr. Motyer. "Haven't cast an eye on you for a month of Sundays, Ironsyde."

Take my tip and come to the show and make a night of it. Waldron's going to be there. He's hunting this morning." "I know." The dinner bell had rung and now there came a knock at Raymond's door. Then Sabina entered and was departing again, but her lover bade her stay. "Don't go, Sabina. This is my friend, Mr. Motyer Miss Dinnett."

Neddy Motyer rolled a cigarette. "Ray ain't going," said the customer. "Not going to his father's funeral!" "For a very good reason, too; he's cut off with a shilling." "Dear, dear," said Mr. Gurd. "That's bad news, though perhaps not much of a surprise to Mr. Raymond." "It's a devil of a lesson to the rising generation," declared the youth.

Neddy Motyer made another encouraging suggestion. "There's your aunt, Miss Ironsyde," he said. "She's got plenty of cash, I've heard people say, and she gives tons away in charity. How do you stand with her?" "Mind your own business, Ned." "Sorry," answered the other promptly. "Only wanted to buck you up." "I'm not in need of any bucking up, thanks. If I've got to work, I'm quite equal to it.