“Please, sir—­don’t!” interposed Dollops, with a sort of shiver.  “If anythink had’ve happened to you, Gov’nor...”  Then stopped short and made a sound as if he were swallowing something, and then grew very, very still.

Cleek looked at him out of the corner of his eye—­moved in spite of himself—­hesitated a moment and then, obeying an impulse, leaned over and gently tapped him on the shoulder.

“Dollops, shake hands,” he said.

“Sir!”

“Shake hands.”

“Gawd, Gov’nor!  You don’t never mean that, sir?”

“Shake hands,” said Cleek for the third time.  “Do you know, you little monkey, that you’re the only soul in all God’s world that could ever muster up a tear for me?  Thank you, my lad—­you’re a brick!”—­then gripped the grimy hand that was reached out with a sort of awe, wrung it heartily, patted the astonished boy on the shoulder; and fell to whistling merrily as he went on with his dressing.

“Sir, you do lick me, you fair do,” said Dollops, laughing unsteadily, and drawing his sleeve across his eyes.  “Arfter wot you’ve been and went through, a-sittin’ there and whistlin’ as merry as can be—­like as if life was all beer and skittles, and you hadn’t a care in the world.”

“I haven’t—­for the minute, my lad,” said Cleek with a laugh of utter happiness.  “Beer and skittles?  Lord, it’s all roses my boy, roses!  I’ve had the good luck to accomplish a thing that’s going to give me—­well, at least one moment in Paradise—­and when a man has a prospect like that in view...”  His voice trailed off; he laughed again; then fell to whistling once more—­noisily, joyously, as if some schoolboy sort of madness was in his blood to-night—­and was still whistling when the automobile pulled up sharply in front of the Hotel du Louvre.

CHAPTER X

By this time he had concluded the alteration in his toilet which was necessary to assure his entrance into the hotel without occasioning comment; and as Dollops had followed suit they readily passed muster, when they alighted, for an ordinary English gentleman accompanied by an ordinary English manservant.

“What was the charge at the garage?” inquired Cleek of Dollops just previously to alighting.

“I dunno wot it runs to in this ’ere rum lingo of francs and sous, sir,” said Dollops, “but the garage gent he said it would amount to two pounds ten in English money, so I’ll have to leave you to work it out for yourself.  The shuvver, he said sommink about ’poor boars’—­which I’ve heard is wot you has to give ’em as a tip to themselves, Gov’nor—­so I promised him ’arf a crown to stop at ‘tother end of that passage leadin’ up from The Twisted Arm till he was wanted, sir.  Made it a good tip because I wanted him to be there sure—­it would have been a case of ‘nab’ for us if he hadn’t.  Wasn’t too much, was it, sir?”

“No,” said Cleek—­and let him see that it wasn’t by giving the chauffeur a pourboire of ten francs and sending him back to the garage with the impression that he had had dealings with a millionaire.