A reg'lar new start he's making--_and_ a lively one, I
don't think. Theatres and supper parties ever since he's been back, sir,
and right glad I've been to see it, though I don't 'old with
carryings-on, in a general way. But after them there tropiks he'd need a
change. He was that down, sir, when he first came, I didn't know what to
think."
The room might have belonged to a young dandy returned to London from the
wilds of Central Africa. It was littered with half-open boxes, new
suits, a disorderly regiment of shining, unworn boots and shoes, a pile
of ties that must have been chosen for sheer expensiveness. (Stonehouse
remembered the spotted affair with which Cosgrave had wooed Connie
Edward's approval.) The shabby suit in which Stonehouse had first met
him had been flung with the other cast-offs into a far corner. It was
all very young and reckless and jolly. One could see the owner, as he
rampaged about the room, whistling and cursing in a good-humoured haste.
"'Ere's 'is writing-table; I'll just make room for you, sir----"
He stopped her.
"It doesn't matter. If he's to be at the Carlton I'll probably look him
up myself."
"Dining early, he said, sir--seven o'clock."
"Yes--thank you."
A folded, grey-tinted letter lay half hidden in the general melee. It
had a bold, irrepressible look, as though it were aware of having blown
the room to smithereens and was rather amused. Stonehouse could see the
large, sprawling hand that covered it.
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