smash?"

"Well, it turned out that the poor old pater hadn't left a penny. I
never understood the process exactly, but I'd always supposed that we
were pretty well off; and then it turned out that I hadn't anything at
all. I'm bound to say it was a bit of a jar. I had to come down from
Cambridge and go to work in my uncle's office. Of course, I made an
absolute hash of it."

"Why, of course?"

"Well, I'm not a very clever sort of chap, you see. I somehow didn't
seem able to grasp the workings. After about a year, my uncle, getting a
bit fed-up, hoofed me out and got me a mastership at a school, and I
made a hash of that. He got me one or two other jobs, and I made a hash
of those."

"You certainly do seem to be one of our most prominent young hashers!"
gasped Sally.

"I am," said Ginger, modestly.

There was a silence.

"And what about Scrymgeour?" Sally asked.

"That was the last of the jobs," said Ginger. "Scrymgeour is a pompous
old ass who think's he's going to be Prime Minister some day. He's a big
bug at the Bar and has just got into Parliament. My cousin used to devil
for him. That's how I got mixed up with the blighter."