Bicky gave a hollow sort of laugh.

"Well, as everybody seems to know all about it, there's no need to try
to keep it dark. The old boy turfed me out, Bertie, because he said I
was a brainless nincompoop. The idea was that he would give me a
remittance on condition that I dashed out to some blighted locality of
the name of Colorado and learned farming or ranching, or whatever they
call it, at some bally ranch or farm or whatever it's called. I didn't
fancy the idea a bit. I should have had to ride horses and pursue cows,
and so forth. I hate horses. They bite at you. I was all against the
scheme. At the same time, don't you know, I had to have that
remittance."

"I get you absolutely, dear boy."

"Well, when I got to New York it looked a decent sort of place to me,
so I thought it would be a pretty sound notion to stop here. So I
cabled to my uncle telling him that I had dropped into a good business
wheeze in the city and wanted to chuck the ranch idea. He wrote back
that it was all right, and here I've been ever since. He thinks I'm
doing well at something or other over here. I never dreamed, don't you
know, that he would ever come out here. What on earth am I to do?"

"Jeeves," I said, "what on earth is Mr. Bickersteth to do?"

"You see," said Bicky, "I had a wireless from him to say that he was
coming to stay with me--to save hotel bills, I suppose. I've always
given him the impression that I was living in pretty good style. I
can't have him to stay at my boarding-house."