As they were entering the buffet, a cheery voice accosted them from
behind. Freddie Ulstervelt came up, real distress in his face.

"I say, count me in on this. I'll buy, if I may. I've just heard the
news from the door porter. Bloody shame, isn't it? I had Mademoiselle Le
Brun over to hear the band concert--she is related to that painter
woman, by the way; I told Katherine she was. Say, gentlemen, we'll stand
by Mrs. Medcroft, won't we? Count me in. If it's anything that money can
square, I'm here with a letter of credit six figures long."

"Join us," said Odell-Carney warmly. "You're a good sort, after all."

They sat down at a table. Freddie stood between them, a hand on the
shoulder of each. Very seriously he was saying:

"I say, gentlemen, we can't abandon a woman at a time like this. We must
stand together. All true sports and black sheep _should_ stand together,
don't you know."

It is possible that Odell-Carney appreciated the subtlety of this
compliment. Not so Mr. Rodney.

"Sports? Black sheep? Upon my soul, sir, I don't understand you," he
mumbled. Mr. Rodney, although he hailed from Seattle, had never known
anything but a clean and unrumpled conscience.

Freddie clapped him jovially on the shoulder. "It's all right, Mr.
Rodney. I'll take your word for it. But if we are black sheep we shan't
be blackguards. We'll stand by the ship. What's to be done? Bail 'em
out?"