“We have them still,” said I.  “It is not the men, but the opportunities, which are lacking.”

“Perhaps that is so.  Yet, it is the great man who makes them.”

I was thinking of Hillars.  “I would give a good deal for a regiment and a bad moment for our side.”  There was no mighty column in his memory, scarcely a roll of earth.  “What do you want to do?” I asked.  “Shall we hail a cab and drive to the park?”

“Just as you say, if it is not interfering with your work.”

“Not at all.”

“Have a cigar,” said Pembroke, after we had climbed into the cab and arranged our long legs comfortably.  The London cab is all very well for a short and thin person.  “These came to me directly from Key West.”

“That is one of the joys of being rich,” said I.  “Gold is Aladdin’s lamp.  I have to take my chances on getting good tobacco in this country.”

“Talking about gold—­” he began.

“Don’t!” I entreated.

“I was about to say that I drew on my bankers for 20,000 pounds this morning.”

“You intend to go in for a figure abroad, then?”

“Oh, no.  I deposited the money in another bank—­in your name.”

“Mine?  Deposited 20,000 pounds in my name?” I gasped.

“Just so.”

“I understood you to say, because you thought me to be a gentleman, that you weren’t going to do anything like this?  Have I done something to change your opinion?”

“Of course not.  And I never said that I should not do it.  You may or may not use it, that is as you please.  But so far as I am concerned, it will stay there and accumulate interest till the crack of doom.  It isn’t mine any more.  If I were not almost your brother, I dare say you might justly take offense at the action.  As it is,” complacently, “you will not only accept the gift, but thank me for it.”

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Exactly twenty-five.”

“I thought that you could not be older than that.  Aren’t you afraid to be so far away from home?”

Pembroke lay back and laughed.  “You haven’t thanked me yet.”

“I must get a new tailor,” said I.  “What! shall I pay a tailor to make a well-dressed man out of me, and then become an object of charity?  Do I look, then, like a man who is desperately in need of money?”

“No, you don’t look it.  That’s because you are clever.  But what is your salary to a man of your brains?”

“It is bread and butter and lodging.”

He laughed again.  To laugh seemed to be a part of his business.  “Jack, I haven’t a soul in the world but you.  I have only known you three days, but it seems that I have known you all my life.  I have so much money that I cannot even fritter away the income.”

“It must be a sad life,” said I.

“And if you do not accept the sum in the spirit it is given, I’ll double it, and then you’ll have trouble.  You will be a rich man, then, with all a rich man’s cares and worries.”