Nancy deigned not even a glance at her nominal protector.

‘If you are going our way,’ she replied.

Barmby, his dignity unobserved, strode on with Miss.  Morgan, of whom he sought information concerning the loud-voiced man.  Crewe talked away.

’So you’ve come out to have a look at it, after all.  I saw the Miss Frenches last Sunday, and they told me you cared no more for the Jubilee than for a dog-fight.  Of course I wasn’t surprised; you’ve other things to think about.  But it’s worth seeing, that’s my opinion.  Were you out this morning?’

‘No.  I don’t care for Royalties.’

’No more do I. Expensive humbugs, that’s what I call ’em.  But I had a look at them, for all that.  The Crown Prince was worth seeing; yes, he really was.  I’m not so prejudiced as to deny that.  He’s the kind of chap I should like to get hold of, and have a bit of a talk with, and ask him what he thought about things in general.  It’s been a big affair, hasn’t it?  I know a chap who made a Jubilee Perfume, and he’s netting something like a hundred pounds a day.’

‘Have you any Jubilee speculation on hand?’

’Don’t ask me!  It makes me mad.  I had a really big thing,—­a Jubilee Drink,—­a teetotal beverage; the kind of thing that would have sold itself, this weather.  A friend of mine hit on it, a clerk in a City warehouse, one of the cleverest chaps I ever knew.  It really was the drink; I’ve never tasted anything like it.  Why, there’s the biggest fortune on record waiting for the man who can supply the drink for total-abstainers.  And this friend of mine had it.  He gave me some to taste one night, about a month ago, and I roared with delight.  It was all arranged.  I undertook to find enough capital to start with, and to manage the concern.  I would have given up my work with Bullock and Freeman.  I’d have gone in, tooth and nail, for that drink!  I sat up all one night trying to find a name for it; but couldn’t hit on the right one.  A name is just as important as the stuff itself that you want to sell.  Next morning—­ it was Sunday—­I went round to my friend’s lodgings, and’—­he slapped his thigh—­’I’m blest if the chap hadn’t cut his throat!’

‘Why?’

’Betting and forgery.  He would have been arrested next day.  But the worst of it was that his beverage perished with him.  I hadn’t a notion how it was made; he wouldn’t tell me till I planked down money to start with; and not a drop of it could be found anywhere.  And to think that he had absolutely struck oil, as they say; had nothing to do but sit down and count the money as it came in!  That’s the third man I’ve known go wrong in less than a year.  Betting and embezzlement; betting and burglary; betting and forgery.  I’ll tell you some time about the chap who went in for burglary.  One of the best fellows I ever knew; when he comes out, I must give him a hand.  But ten to one he’ll burgle again; they always do; burglary grows on a man, like drink.’