“I want to borrow a young man, as I said before, of good appearance”—­with a glance at Wyatt’s sumptuous apparel—­“and some little brains”—­another and a sharper glance, “One who will obey orders if he breaks owners, who will stand without being tied, and who doesn’t especially care whether school keeps or not.  I would particularly request that he leave his money, his memory, acquired good habits, if any, and his conscience, in your safe-keeping till he is returned.”

“That sounds like the makings of a pretty adventure, Wyatt,” said Atwood, delighted, “Are you for loan, old chap?”

Wyatt laid his affectation aside.  “That depends on the interest, the security, and length of the term.  It certainly appears, from your very flattering description, that you were searching for me, Mr. Thompson.”  His eyes were dancing.

“Interest from the word Go.  The security’s all right, too, if you take a gun,” said Steve reassuringly.  “You might get a long term, but it can be avoided with luck and good management.  I think the parties concerned will hardly make a complaint.”

“You are not contemplating anything illegal, I trust?” Atwood was enjoying himself to the full.

“I don’t know.  Really hadn’t given it much attention,” returned the Committee, simply.  “But now you mention it, I think probably I am.”

“Will you allow my accomplice and myself to use your private room for executive session?” asked Wyatt.

* * * * *

“But why don’t you have them arrested?”

“Arrested?  O no!” cried Steve, in pained surprise.  “That wouldn’t be fair.  That isn’t done!  Besides, don’t you see, that wouldn’t hurt their feelings like this?”

“I see,” said Wyatt.  “I’m your man.  And I say, old chap, before I go back to my Cholly-talk again, advise me.  Would I look any more idiotic, do you think, if I should suck my cane?  I don’t want to disappoint any one.”

“I would not,” said Steve.  “You’re too good to be true, without that.”

“Wouldn’t you naturally suppose,” sighed Wyatt, “that people would know that no man could be as big a fool as I am, unless he did it on purpose?  But they don’t.  They swallow it, hook, bob and sinker!”

Chapter VI

    “If the bowl had been stronger
    My tale had been longer.”

Steve entered Mitchell’s office with the painful uprightness and precise carriage of one who has lunched not wisely but rather too well.  His speech, too, was of ponderous brevity.  The man of affairs chided him with fatherly kindness.

“This won’t do, my boy—­this won’t do.  I like you, Thompson.  I’m sorry—­I’m pained to see this.  Don’t go in for this sort of thing, or your good fortune will prove a curse in disguise.”

Steve hung his head, muttering something incoherent about not being used to wine and that he’d soon get over it.