The International
promise in football. You had better leave him to the Welsh parish. And seriously, my dear boy, do think of the risk. You don't know what kind of a scoundrel his father may have been."
"Yes, I do," said Georgie shortly. Evidently he did not wish to enlarge upon the subject.
"Well," said I, "and his mother was probably a dishonest maid-of-all-work, who stole the jam and lump sugar in seaside lodgings. Give it up, Georgie."
Georgie flung me a glance full of scorn.
"Thanks," said he, "for your advice. You're always chock full of advice, Martin. A man may be sure of getting that from you if he gets nothing else."
"In this case," said I coldly, "it is all I have to offer you."
"Thanks. Drusilla—" he turned to Drusilla and looked sternly into her rosy, anxious face. "Some day," he said tragically, "you will be sorry that you've turned this poor little beggar out in the cold.
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