broke to the world. Poor Clifford met me one day at Arthur's and he guessed how things were. He made me a sporting offer. He said: 'Look here, old chap, you have failed at most things. The only thing you do understand is clothes. Come and be my valet. I will give you £500 a year.' At first, I thought he was joking. But he wasn't, and he installed me in this little box of his in King Street. Only part of the house is furnished; his sitting-room and bedroom and my bedroom. He never has his meals there. The charwoman comes in every day and sees to the place; all I had to do was to look after his clothes. It really was the most extraordinary arrangement that I've ever come across. It was philanthropy on poor old Clifford's part, because my time was entirely my own."
The other reflected.
"It's strange he never told me about this."
"Dear old Clifford wouldn't," rejoined Reggie. "You see, he knew that I shouldn't like it to be known that I was doing a bit of valeting. Well, after all, what's the disgrace? My elder brother, Horace, is chaperoning the 'Venus' at the Nasallheimers' Gallery in Bond Street. It is his duty to show financiers and peers and people of that sort the beauties of Titian. Of course, if he ever succeeds in selling it, he will lose his job as vestal virgin to the 'Venus.' And my cousin, Dartmouth, keeps body and soul and motor together by selling Stereoscopic Co. et Fils Cuvée Anonyme to unwilling
