cling to the skirts of Society as a vendor of champagne or an
organiser of fêtes champêtres, he--to use his own words--decided to
cut the whole show.

Our firm had been named as the administrators of the Swain estate, and
when the storm was over and we were sitting among the ruins, Freddie
expressed the intention of going to work.

"What will you do?" Mr. Royce inquired. "Ever had any training in
making money?"

"No, only in spending it," retorted Freddie, easily. "But I can
learn. I was thinking of studying law. That's a good trade, isn't it?"

"Splendid!" assented Mr. Royce, warmly. "And there are always so many
openings. You see, nobody studies law--lawyers are as scarce as hen's
teeth."

"Just the same, I think I'll have a try at it," said Freddie,
sturdily. "There's always room at the top, you know," he added, with a
grin. "I can go to the night-school at the University, and I ought to
be able to earn enough to live on, as a clerk or something. I know how
to read and write."

"That will help, of course," agreed Mr. Royce. "But I'm afraid that,
right at first, anyway, you can scarcely hope to live in the style to
which you have been accustomed."

Freddie turned on him with fire in his eyes.