safely neglect. There was something in his frank, brusque manner
that pleased Harold, and he promised with half a smile, thanking the
doctor hastily as he did so, while Dermot Tracy whispered to me,
"Good luck getting him; twice as ready as the old one;" and then
vehemently shaking all our hands, to make up for Harold's not being
fit to touch, he promised to come and see him on the morrow. The
moment we were all in the carriage--Eustace still too much shaken to
drive home--his first question was, who _that_ was?

"Mr. Tracy," I answered; and Eustace added, "I thought you called him
Dermont?"

"Dermot--Dermot Tracy. I have known him all our lives."

"I saw he was a gentleman by his boots," quoth Eustace with
deliberation, holding out his own foot as a standard. "I saw they
were London made."

"How fortunate that you had not on your Sydney ones," I could not
help saying in mischief.

"I took care of that," was the complacent answer. "I told Richardson
to take them all away."

I don't think Harold saw the fun. They had neither of them any
humour; even Harold was much too simple and serious.

Eustace next treated us to a piece of his well-conned manual, and
demonstrated that Dermot St. Glear Tracy, Esquire, of Killy Marey,
County Cavan, Ireland, was grandson to an English peer, great