The thought entered his mind, as it had so often, that the world
was full of easy marks. He wished he could meet the money-lender
who had been rash enough to advance the Honorable Freddie five
hundred pounds. Those philanthropists cross our path too seldom.

Freddie felt in his pocket, produced a cigarette case, and from
it extracted a newspaper clipping.

"Did you read about poor old Percy in the papers? The case, you
know?"

"Percy?"

"Lord Stockheath, you know."

"Oh, the Stockheath breach-of-promise case? I did more than that.
I was in court all three days." R. Jones emitted a cozy chuckle.
"Is he a pal of yours? A cousin, eh? I wish you had seen him in
the witness box, with Jellicoe-Smith cross-examining him! The
funniest thing I ever heard! And his letters to the girl! They
read them out in court; and of all--"

"Don't, old man! Dickie, old top--please! I know all about it. I
read the reports. They made poor old Percy look like an absolute
ass."

"Well, Nature had done that already; but I'm bound to say they
improved on Nature's work. I should think your Cousin Percy must
have felt like a plucked chicken."