The spoon fell back into its plate, and Reggie's face grew white. "It can't
be true! I'll never believe it!"

"What did you expect, after what I told you? Unless he had made a bolt of
it."

"Oh, poor old fellow! But what's the poor old fellow done, then?"

"Done? Fraudulently appropriated his clients' money and adapted it to his
own uses."

"Poor old Day! Oh, poor old devil!"

"Well, get your dinner, my dear boy."

"He was slapping me on the shoulder, and I was drinking his champagne, last
night!"

The younger Forcus recovered sufficiently to eat the fish, but his soup had
to be removed untasted. He sat, with both hands gripping his table-napkin
as it lay across his knees, his eyes on the table-cloth, seeing the pretty
Deleah and her fat but agile father dancing down the gay ball-room. In
prison! Some one he had known, and touched hands with! Prison!

"I wonder of what the poor old fellow was thinking as he banged away at his
tambourine last night!" Reggie said.