“Then why not mark your sense of the fact by leaving it?” I inquired, with a smile.

He shook his head.  “What?  Emigrate?  No, thank you!  I’m not taking any.  None of your colonies for me, if you please.  I shall stick to the old ship.  I’m too much attached to the Empire.”

“And yet imperialists,” I said, “generally gush over the colonies—­ the Empire on which the sun never sets.”

“The Empire in Leicester Squire!” he responded, gazing at me with unspoken contempt.  “Have a whisky-and-soda, old chap?  What, no?  ‘Never drink between meals?’ Well, you do surprise me!  I suppose that comes of being a sawbones, don’t it?”

“Possibly,” I answered.  “We respect our livers.”  Then I went on to the ostensible reason of my visit—­the Charterhouse testimonial.  He slapped his thighs metaphorically, by way of suggesting the depleted condition of his pockets.  “Stony broke, Cumberledge,” he murmured; “stony broke!  Honour bright!  Unless Bluebird pulls off the Prince of Wales’s Stakes, I really don’t know how I’m to pay the Benchers.”

“It’s quite unimportant,” I answered.  “I was asked to ask you, and I have asked you.”

“So I twig, my dear fellow.  Sorry to have to say no.  But I’ll tell you what I can do for you; I can put you upon a straight thing—­”

I glanced at the mantelpiece.  “I see you have a photograph of Miss Sissie Montague,” I broke in casually, taking it down and examining it.  “With an autograph, too.  ‘Reggie, from Sissie.’  You are a friend of hers?”

“A friend of hers?  I’ll trouble you.  She is a clinker, Sissie is!  You should see that girl smoke.  I give you my word of honour, Cumberledge, she can consume cigarettes against any fellow I know in London.  Hang it all, a girl like that, you know—­well, one can’t help admiring her!  Ever seen her?”

“Oh, yes; I know her.  I called on her, in fact, night before last, at Scarborough.”

He whistled a moment, then broke into an imbecile laugh.  “My gum,” he cried; “this is a start, this is!  You don’t mean to tell me you are the other Johnnie.”

“What other Johnnie?” I asked, feeling we were getting near it.

He leaned back and laughed again.  “Well, you know that girl Sissie, she’s a clever one, she is,” he went on after a minute, staring at me.  “She’s a regular clinker!  Got two strings to her bow; that’s where the trouble comes in.  Me and another fellow.  She likes me for love and the other fellow for money.  Now, don’t you come and tell me that you are the other fellow.”

“I have certainly never aspired to the young lady’s hand,” I answered, cautiously.  “But don’t you know your rival’s name, then?”

“That’s Sissie’s blooming cleverness.  She’s a caulker, Sissie is; you don’t take a rise out of Sissie in a hurry.  She knows that if I knew who the other bloke was, I’d blow upon her little game to him and put him off her.  And I would, s’ep me taters; for I’m nuts on that girl.  I tell you, Cumberledge, she is a clinker!”