For a moment the dissipated youth surveyed his cousin, then an angry
flush mounted into his pasty face.

"You--you--" he stuttered, "--you go to hell."

Without another word the elderly Cavendish summoned the waiter, paid
the bill, and walked toward the door. John stared after him, a smile
of derision on his face. He had heard Cavendish threaten before.

"Your cousin seemed peeved," suggested Miss La Rue.

"It's his nature," explained John. "Got sore because I asked him for a
mere hundred and threatened to cut off my income unless I quit you two."

"You told him where to go," Miss La Rue said, laughing. "I heard you,
but I don't suppose he'll go--he doesn't look like that kind."

"Anyhow, I told him," laughed John; then producing a large bill, cried:
"Drink up, people, they're on me--and goody-goody cousin Fred."


When Frederick Cavendish reached the street and the fresh night air
raced through his lungs he came to a sudden realisation and then a
resolution. The realisation was that since further pleading would
avail nothing with John Cavendish, he needed a lesson. The resolution
was to give it to him. Both strengthened his previous half-hearted
desire to meet Westcott, into determination.

He turned the matter over in his mind as he walked along until
reflection was ended by the doors of the College Club which appeared