Jesuit, however, and cannot decide cases of conscience. I deal with
business problems only, which are all cut and dry, legal and formal. When
I make a promise in the way of business I always keep it precisely and
punctually, for the penalty of failure to do so is a business man's death
--bankruptcy."

"There's such a thing as moral bankruptcy," said Sir James gloomily.

"Very likely," replied Master Freake.

"This is all nothing whatefer but words, words, words," said the
Welshman. "And words, my goot sirs, are indeed no goot whatefer. Sir
James's head is wrapped up in a mist of words, words, words, and indeed he
cannot see anything whatefer. I am not a man of words, and what you call
'em--broblems."

"Very good," said I.

"Indeed it is goot," said he. "To hell with your words and your broblems.
They are of no use whatefer, whatefer. Our good friend, Sir James, is up
to his neck in broblems like a man in a bog, and he cannot move. Now I
have not your broblems. To hell with your broblems. My Cousin Wynne is
full of 'em, and he's still gaping up at the cloud on Snowdon, while I'm
here, ready. I say plain: if the Prince cross south of the Trent I will
join him."

"Why the Trent?" said I.

"It is my mark. It is my way of knowing what I will do. It is all so
simple. Indeed I am a simple man, not a broblem in my brain, none