Had it been Ormonde Delorme, any friend of Monksmead days, any school or Sandhurst acquaintance, had it been any other relative, had it been Lucille, he would have fled for his life, he would have seen his hand paralysed ere he would have extended it, he would have been struck dumb rather than speak, he would have died before he would have inflicted upon them the indignity of being seen in the company of a common soldier. But the Haddock! ’twould do the Haddock a world of good; the Haddock who had mocked him as he fought for sanity and life on the lawn at Monksmead—the Haddock who “made love” to Lucille. The Haddock affected not to see the hand. “I—er—don’t—ah—know you, surely, do I?” he managed to mumble as he backed away and turned to escape. “Probably not, dear Haddock,” replied the embittered desperate Dam, “but you’re going to. We’re going for a walk together.” “Are you—ah—dwunk, fellow? Do you suppose I walk with—ah—_soldiers_?” “I don’t, my Fish, but you’re going to now—if I have to carry you. And if I have to do that I’ll slap you well, when I put you down!” “I’ll call a policeman and give you in charge if you dare molest me. What do you—ah—desire? Money?… If you come to my hotel this evening—” and the hapless young man was swung round, his limp thin arm tucked beneath a powerful and mighty one, and he was whirled along at five miles an hour in the direction of the pier, gasping, feebly struggling, and a sight to move the High Gods to pity. “To the pier, my Haddock, and then back to the turnpike gate, and if you let a yell, or signal a policeman, I’ll twist your little neck. Fancy our Haddock in a vulgar street row with a common soldier and in the Police Court! Step it out, you worm!” Then the agonized Haddock dropped pretence. “Oh, Dam, I’m awf’ly sorry. I apologize, old chap. _Let up_—I say—this is _awful_…. Good God, here’s Lady Plonk, the Mayor’s wife!” “You shall introduce me, Lovely One—but no, we mustn’t annoy ladies. You must _not_ go trying to introduce your low companions—nay, relations—to Lady Plonkses. Step out—and look happy.” “Dam—for God’s sake, let me go! I didn’t know you, old chap. I swear I didn’t. The disgrace will kill me. I’ll give you—” “Look here, wee Fish, you offer me money again and I’ll—I’ll undress you and run away with your clothes. I will, upon my soul.” “I shall call to this policeman,” gasped the Haddock. “And appear with your low-class _relation_ in Court? Not you, Haddock. I’d swear you were my twin brother, and that you wouldn’t pay me the four pence you borrowed of me last week.” And the cruel penance was inflicted to the last inch. Near the end the Haddock groaned: “Here’s Amelia Harringport—Oh! my God,” and Dam quickly turned his face unto the South and gazed at the fair land of France. He remembered that General Harringport dwelt in these parts.