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You can't put old heads on young shoulders, but our shoulders ain't so young as they used to be, Rochy. And I want to tell you this, if you don't hitch up again in harness, the other party will do a bolt. I'm dead serious.
"Hello, Rochy," said the voice. Jones turned, and found himself arm in arm with a youth of eighteen so he seemed, a gilded youth, if there ever was a gilded youth, immaculately dressed, cheery, and with a frank face that was entirely pleasing. "Hello," said Jones. "What became of you that night?" asked the cheery one, as they crossed the road still arm in arm. "Which night?" "Which night?
"I don't want to poke my nose into your affairs," said he, "but I can see there's something worrying you; you're not the same chap. Is it about the wife?" "No," said Jones, "it's not that." "Well, I don't want to dig into your confidences, and I don't want to give you advice. If I did, I'd say make it up with her. You know very well, Rochy, you have led her the deuce of a dance.
He'd take her money and herself off to Monte, and when he'd broken her heart and spoiled her life and spent her coin, he'd leave her, and go off and be Russian attaché in Japan or somewhere. I know him. Don't let her do it, Rochy." "But how am I to help it?" asked the perplexed Jones, who saw the meaning of the other.
Your sister got me on about it the other night at the Vernons'. We had a long talk about you, Rochy, and we agreed you were the best of chaps, but too much given to gaiety and promiscuous larks. You should have heard me holding forth. But, joking apart, it's time you and I settled down, old chap.
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