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Updated: June 22, 2025
Jimmy pleaded that he could be a sillier ass than anybody living; but Charteris was firm. "No," he said. "You must be Captain Browne. Fine acting part. The biggest in the piece. Full of fat lines. Spennie was to have played it, and we were in for the worst frost in the history of the stage. Now you've come, it's all right. Spennie's the ideal Lord Herbert. He's simply got to be him-self.
Another denial was hovering on Spennie's lips, when, in a flash, he saw what he had not seen before, the cloud of suspicion which must hang over him when the loss of the notes was discovered. Sir Thomas would remember that he had tried to borrow money from him. Wesson would wonder how he had become possessed of twenty pounds.
Lord Dreever might be hounded into proposing to Molly, but what earthly reason was there for supposing that Molly would accept him? He declined even for an instant to look upon Spennie's title in the light of a lure. Molly was not the girl to marry for a title. He endeavored to examine impartially his lordship's other claims.
In his dressing room. Spennie's plan of campaign was complete. The theatricals began at half-past eight. The audience had been hustled into their seats, happier than is usual in such circumstances from the rumor that the proceedings were to terminate with an informal dance. The abbey was singularly well constructed for such a purpose.
There was plenty of room, and a sufficiency of retreat for those who sat out, in addition to a conservatory large enough to have married off half the couples in the county. Spennie's idea had been to establish an alibi by mingling with the throng for a few minutes, and then to get through his burglarious specialty during the duologue, when his absence would not be noticed.
A delicate pink flush might have been seen to spread over Spennie's face. He began to look like an angry rabbit. He had not a great deal of pride in his composition, but the thought of the ignominious role which Wesson was sketching out for him stirred what he had to its shallow depths. Talking on, Wesson managed with his final words to add the last straw.
"You can easily talk about me to her. Praise me, and so on." Spennie's eyes opened wide. "Praise you? How?" "Thanks," said Wesson, with a laugh. "If you can't think of any admirable qualities in me, you'd better invent some." "I should feel such a silly ass." "That would be a new experience for you, wouldn't it? And then you can arrange it so that I shall get chances of talking to her.
You can bring us together." Spennie's eyes became rounder. "You seem to have mapped out quite a programme for me." "She'll listen to you. You can help me a lot." "Can I?" Wesson threw away his cigarette. "And there's another thing," he said. "You can queer that fellow Pitt's game. She's always with him now. You must get her away from him. Run him down to her.
Spennie's conscience made one last effort. "You'd much better stop, you know, Wesson, really," he said. "You can lose a frightful lot at this game." "My dear Spennie," said Wesson stiffly, "I can look after myself, thanks. Of course, if you think you are risking too much, by all means " "Oh, if you don't mind," said Spennie, outraged, "I'm only too frightfully pleased.
Jimmy objected strongly to any one addressing her as if there existed between them some secret understanding. Already the mood of the old New York days was strong upon him. His instinct then had been to hate all her male acquaintances with an unreasoning hatred. He found himself in much the same frame of mind, now. "So you're Spennie's friend," said Mr.
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