Presently Jim found himself at the piano, and a little later out in the quad with the red-haired one and half-a-dozen others, "wondering what to do." Eventually they solved the problem by going to a music-hall and joining vociferously in the choruses--it was one of those music-halls where the audience _does_ join in the choruses--and the end of it was that Jim got home sometime between one and two in the morning, feeling uncommonly merry and not at all repentant. But that was Jim’s last night round the town with the Matt’s lot. Even while he was chirruping choruses, an epistle was winging its way towards him by express train. He got that missive at breakfast time, and Koko, who called in just then, found him looking thoughtful. "Read that," he said to Koko. And Koko read as follows:-- "Pangora," Threeways, Sept. 20th. MY DEAR JAMES,--You may possibly remember that in the course of the conversation I held with you over the telephone on the day of your departure for town, I expressed myself quite plainly with regard to your future conduct. My attention has to-day been drawn to a paragraph in the local Liberal journal--I am, as you know, a Conservative in politics--to the effect that a medical man named James Mortimer, who gave his address as St Matthew’s Hospital, behaved in a disgraceful fashion at the Exhibition one night earlier in the month, and was eventually fined forty shillings and severely reprimanded by the magistrate. As I happen to know that you are the only Mortimer at St Matthew’s, and as I am aware of your liking for drunken brawls, I can only conclude that you disregarded my injunctions at the first opportunity that presented itself. I am obliged, therefore, to keep my part of the compact by informing you that my doors are henceforth closed to you, and that you need never look to me for another penny. I am, Your affectionate grandfather, JOHN MORTIMER. *CHAPTER VII.* *SIR SAVILE’S OFFER.* "But," said Koko as he handed the letter back to Jim, "how on earth did your local rag get hold of it? I’ve seen both my friends since, and they assured me they didn’t write a line about you." "I give it up," said Jim; "the fact remains that the old man has got wind of it." "But isn’t this action on his part a bit sudden?" demanded Koko. "He said he would," said Jim, munching a piece of watercress (Mrs Freeman’s unvarying Tuesday breakfast was ham and watercress), "but I didn’t think he meant it." "Perhaps he doesn’t mean it," said Koko, hopefully. "I am very much afraid," returned Jim, "that he does, though. You see, he was already wild with me, as he had had to stump up for that big window I broke--you remember! Twelve quid--that was the bill. He told me about it over the telephone. I wish I’d been able to have a square talk with him, face to face; he wouldn’t have been half so wild, I put all this down to that rotten telephone."