Jimmy's heart went out to the sufferer. He took a card from his case,
scribbled the words, "Can I help?" on it, and gave it to a waiter to
take to the young man, who was now in a state bordering on collapse.

The next moment the light-haired one was at his table, talking in a
feverish whisper.

"I say," he said, "it's frightfully good of you, old chap. It's
frightfully awkward. I've come out with too little money. I hardly
like to--What I mean to say is, you've never seen me before, and----"

"That's all right," said Jimmy. "Only too glad to help. It might have
happened to any one. Will this be enough?"

He placed a five-pound note on the table. The young man grabbed at it
with a rush of thanks.

"I say, thanks fearfully," he said. "I don't know what I'd have done.
I'll let you have it back to-morrow. Here's my card. Blunt's my name.
Spennie Blunt. Is your address on your card? I can't remember. Oh, by
Jove, I've got it in my hand all the time." The gurgling laugh came
into action again, freshened and strengthened by its rest. "Savoy
Mansions, eh? I'll come round to-morrow. Thanks, frightfully, again
old chap. I don't know what I should have done."

He flitted back to his table, bearing the spoil, and Jimmy, having
finished his cigarette, paid his check, and got up to go.

It was a perfect summer night. He looked at his watch. There was time