"The mother is always impressing him with the fact that he is a de
Laney on both sides," interpolated Bert.
"Important, if true, as the newspapers say," remarked the other young
man on the window ledge. "What constitutes a de Laney?"
"Hereditary lack of humour, Beck, my boy. Well, the result is that poor
Bennie is a sort of----" the speaker hesitated for his word.
"'Willy boy,'" suggested Beck, mildly.
"Something of the sort, but not exactly. A 'willy boy' never has ideas.
Bennie has."
"Such as?"
"Well, for one thing, he wants to get away. He doesn't seem quite
content with his job of idle aristocrat. I believe he's been pestering
the old man to send him West. Old man doesn't approve."
"'That the fine bloom of culture will become rubbed off in the contact
with rude, rough men, seems to me inevitable,'" mimicked Bert in
pedantic tones, "'unless a firm sense of personal dignity and an
equally firm sense of our obligations to more refined though absent
friends hedges us about with adequate safeguards.'"
The four laughed. "That's his style, sure enough," Jim agreed.
"What does he want to do West?" asked Hench.
"He doesn't know. Write a book, I believe, or something of that sort.
But he isn't an ass. He has a lot of good stuff in him, only it will
never get a chance, fixed the way he is now."
A silence fell, which was broken at last by Bert.
"Come, Jeems," he suggested; "here we've taken up Hench's valuable
idea, but are no farther with it."
"True," said Jeems.
He rolled over on his hands and knees. Bert took up a similar position
by his side.
"Go!" shouted Hench from the window ledge.
At the word, the two on the mattress turned and grappled each other
fiercely, half rising to their feet in the strenuousness of endeavour.
Jeems tried frantically for a half-Nelson. While preventing it the wily
Bert awaited his chance for a hammer-lock. In the moment of indecision
as to which would succeed in his charitable design, a knock on the door
put an end to hostilities. The gladiators sat upright and panted.
A young man stepped bashfully into the room and closed the door behind
him.
The newcomer was a clean-cut young fellow, of perhaps twenty-two years
of age, with regular features, brown eyes, straight hair, and sensitive
lips. He was exceedingly well-dressed. A moment's pause followed his
appearance. Then: "Why, it's our old friend, the kid!" cried Jeems.
"Don't let me interrupt," begged the youth diffidently.
"No interruption. End of round one," panted Jeems. "Glad you came.
Bertie, here, was twisting my delicate clavicle most cruelly. Know
Hench and Beck there?"
De Laney bowed to the young men in the window, who removed their pipes
from their mouths and grinned amiably.