if we can only drive 'em somewhere. Keb, gentlemen? Keb?"

"Keb?" The nearest one stopped and pointed with his cane. "Well I'm damned! Observe the Noah's ark! Look at it, Reggie! Look, Turly, old boy!"

"And look at the jolly old nag," said Reggie.

"Why the dickens don't you feed him?"

this morning, sir."

Fish was staring at him. "I say, Turly!" he exclaimed. "Look here, Reggie, old boy! Mos' remarkable thing I ever saw."

Joe prepared himself for the worst. "Look!" said Fish. "The man's the living image of Lord Marvin."

"By Jove! he is a little," admitted Reggie.

"A little? If he dyed that mustache of his-wore some decent

"Hay? This animal needs oats and bran and things."

"And a few jolly old custard puddings," said Reggie. "Fish, take this man's name and address. If it wasn't for the shafts-his nag would collapse."

Fish was leaning on his cane. "I s'pose," he hiccuped, "you spend all your money on beer?"

Ah! these young toffs. Joe knew 'em. They wanted their little joke that was all. Clean-cut, good-looking, young gentlemen-out for a bit of fun.

"A glass of beer, sir," he parried. "I ain't been able to afford a glass of beer in the last two months, sir—and that's as true as Gospel!"

"Don't believe you," said Reggie. "Simply don't believe you. Here, Fish-I want you to report thish man to the jolly old thingammy-bobsyou know who I mean."

"Society for provension of cruelty to aminals," said Fish with considerable wisdom.

"Exactly. Fellow spends all his money on beer-neglects horse."

Joe Swan continued to smile leniently on them. "Keb, gentlemen?" he repeated wistfully. "Nice, comfortable keb, gentlemen."

Joe obliged. Lord Marvin was an imperialist, noted for his generosity to the poor and the fact that he was the Labor Party's most fiery opponent in the House of Lords. Joe knew he resembled him a bit. Only Lord Marvin's mustache was black, his face a bit fuller and more well-fed, like.

"Rot," said the tall, aristocratic Turly. "Doesn't look the least like him. Come on-let's push off."

The young gentlemen were going. Charlie's oats-for to-night and tomorrow-were going. Joe's calloused hands gripped the reins, gripped them hard as though to save the oats from slipping through his fingers.

"Keb, gentlemen," he begged. "Drive you anywhere you say. Drive you for nothing. Pleasure to drive young gents from Oxford-”

Turly wheeled. "Oxford? How'd you know that?"

"Oh, I can tell 'em, sir. There's a stamp about 'em-you might say. Can't mistake gentlemen, sir-all the world over."

"Gentlemen!" said Reggie. "Bravo. Three hearty cheers."

"Cruelty to aminals," murmured

Fish. "Don't like the chap. Looks like Lord Marvin. Don't like Lord Marvin. Damned old fool."

Turly took his arm. "Here," he said, "climb in. Get aboard, Reggie." "That's the way, sir." Joe Swan was bobbing up and down. The precipitant entrance of three tall, wellbuilt young men was making his cab dance. "Where to, gentlemen?" "Grosvenor Street-then Adelphi Gate-then take me home to Waverley Square."

Joe shook the reins. "Like a 'orse, Charlie. Oats, me boy! Oats. Put your best leg forrard, Charlie—and thank Gawd for Oxford."

Reggie was dropped first; then Fish; and eventually the cab was brought to a tremulous halt in front of a mansion on Waverley Square. Turly got out and handed Joe five shillings.

"Thanky, sir. Thanky."

ness. I was at Epsom the day your father's 'orse run second in the Derby. And I was outside Lordsthis time last year when you won the cricket match for Eton against Harrow."

The reminder of that event seemed to bore Lord Turlington. "Where's your stand?" he inquired.

"Corner of Avelon Road, as a rule, m'lord-where you found me tonight."

"Righto." He scrutinized him. "By Jove! you do look like Lord Marvin. Hanged if you don't."

23

Five shillings went a long way with Joe Swan. But there was the rent to pay, and feed-and-stable money for Charlie and as ill luck would have it another attack of lumbago kept Joe to his bed. That, however, aroused no sympathy in the landlord. Either

"I do, sir. I wash it thoroughly once a week, like. It's the soap I use. That's what the smell is, sir."

"It must be damned awful soap." "Yus, m'lord. And thanky, m'lord. First bit o' money I've earned today."

"They all say that."

Joe smiled. The handsome young gentleman believed him, all rightonly he must 'ave his little joke, like. All these Oxford boys was like that. Fond of pulling your leg, you might say. Given him five shillings-that's what he'd done. A prince, he was.

"Begging your pardon, m'lordbut ain't you the present Lord Turlington?"

went-lumbago and all. The mews proprietor was equally outspoken. If his blasted money wasn't coming by Saturday he'd seize the 'orse and keb and sell 'em for what they was worth.

Meanwhile London continued its hectic course, with Lords cricketground the center of attraction. Here was an event fraught with great moment. The annual match between Eton and Harrow was on, and occupied the attention of the press, the sporting public and society.

But the corner of Avelon Roadbleak enough without Joe and his "keb"-wasn't exactly deserted. Three nobly-born young gentlemen had visited the spot a hundred times. They came at all hours of the day and night, waited there impatiently,

swearing. By Friday night, Fish had become jolly-well fed up with the thing. "The man's drunk, most probably. Drunk in some hovel."

"We can't give up," said Turly. "We've got to find him. Reggie! take my car and visit every mews in Kensington. Fish! you comb the railway-stations. Start with Charing Cross. I'll stay here till midnight." Late Saturday afternoon-the Eton and Harrow match being over -three young bloods found themselves with an elaborate failure on their aristocratic hands. For once, Lord Turlington, Reggie Norton, and the Hon. Frederick Ivor ShalbertHarris-Fish, by reason of initialsadmitted they were beaten. Failure to young men not yet twenty-one is a very desperate affair.

About six o'clock, Joe Swandrawn of face, still racked with pain, but whistling a little tune to keep up his and Charlie's courage-brought his "keb" up against the curbstone of Avelon Road.

"Like a 'orse, Charlie," he admonished thinly. "We've got to find oat and rent money afore midnightor it'll be the bloomin' end of us."

Five minutes later a veritable tornado struck them; a tornado in the shape of a swift touring-car driven by a liveried chauffeur and conveying three dynamic young men all in evening clothes and shiny toppers.

Instantly, they roared the neighborhood into a panic. With all the authority of a conquering army, they commandeered Joe and all that was his. Under the force of their attack, the "keb" trembled. Charlie quaked. "You silly old ass," bellowed Reggie. "We've been looking all over London for you."

Joe smiled at them. "Silly old ass" and similar epithets on the lips of young gents were terms of endearment. He didn't mind what they called him. He liked them.

Lord Turlington, it seemed, was in command. "Don't stop to argue," he said, looking at his watch. "Here, Reggie you come with me. Three quarters of an hour. Spring to it, Fish. Take the old chap back with you to his digs-wherever he hangs out."

"But the address?" yelled Fish. "Reggie'll want to know where to come with the duds."

"Good Lord!" Turly came running back. "Where d'you live, cabby?"

"Fourteen and a half Blackwalls Lane, m'lord. Off Covent Garden."

"Righto. Make him drive fast, Fish. Reggie'll be there in about fifteen minutes."

"And don't forget the mascaro," screamed Fish.

With the roar of an eighteen-inch shell, Lord Turlington's car shot away. The Hon. Frederick Ivor Shalbert-Harris sprang into Joe's cab.

"Drive like Hades," he shouted. "Use your whip on the old nag."

Joe was a bit worried. These young gents might be up to anything. He felt very helpless with 'em incapable, like.

"Wh-where to, sir?"

"To your digs you old drunkard! To your lodgings-your hole-in-thewall-wherever you jolly-well live! Drive on-drive on!"

Something desperate was afoot. Joe Swan didn't like it. Still, he'd get a shilling or two out of it, maybe; enable him to pay his rent-the stable money—

"Like a 'orse, Charlie," he urged. "We're in for something. Only Gawd knows what. Put your best leg forrard, Charlie."

But Charlie's best leg wasn't so much. By the time Joe had put away his "keb" and piloted the Hon. Frederick Ivor Shalbert-Harris up two flights of stairs to his "bit of a room, like," the young Oxonian was frantic with delay.

"Off with your coat and collar," he yelled. "Get that scrub off your chin. For heaven's sake—hurry!"

order to pass you off for Lord Marvin."

Joe Swan grasped the back of a chair.

"Oo, Gawd," he piped.

"Where's your bally razor?" Fish was hunting all over the place.

"Razor? I ain't got one, sir. I had a razor-but I had to go and pawn it, like this morning, sir. Charlie, me 'orse, had to 'ave a bite o' hay, sir."

The Hon. Frederick Ivor ShalbertHarris was flabbergasted. "Pawn it, like," he repeated. "Now, look here,

"How on earth can you possibly attend a dinner without shav-" Fish was suddenly reminded of something. "By Jove!" he ejaculated, "I haven't told you-have I?"

"Oh, fags," he explained, "are chaps who dance attendance on one at school. Jolly nice kids, you know. Fathers all dukes and earls and things. House of Lords men-in the making."

"I understand, sir."

"All right. Turly's giving 'em a dinner. Conclusion of Eton and Harrow match. Wants 'em to meet Lord Marvin. You"-he was pointing at him-"you will represent the gentleman! Now, for God's sake, hurry! Dinner's at seven. Those kids have to be home and in bed by nine. And we've got to dye your jolly old mustache, rig you out in evening clothes, silk hat, and all that-in

spirit of this thing? We've worked like fools trying to make a go of it. We wanted to coach you in the part -and all that. Now we haven't time. We'll have to do the best we can."

He came closer. "Now be a good fellow, won't you, cabby? Don't let us down at the last moment," he pleaded. "It's all in good fun, you know-give those Eton chaps a thrill-and we'll see you don't lose by it."

"I'll-I'll do me best for you, sir." Joe was beginning to get excited. "I was young meself, once. But lummy! it's a 'orrible responsibility, ain't it, sir?"

"Please hurry. I'll dart out for a razor."

There was a wild shout at the foot of the stairs.

"Fish! Hey, Fish!"

"Here, Reggie. Up here. It's all straightened out. I'm dashing out for a bally razor. The silly old ass hasn't got one. Won't be a second. Get him into the duds. He can shave after."

Fish thundered down the stairs. Reginald Norton, Esq., came in, a bundle of clothes over his arm.