The reason, apart from his social qualities, why Sir Robert invited Richard Woodroffe to the dinner was not unconnected with a little conversation held at a smoking concert a few nights before. It was a very good smoking concert; a highly distinguished company was present; and the performers were all professionals. Richard did his "turn," and then took a seat beside Sir Robert. "I haven't seen you since last June, Dick, have I?" "I've been on tramp." "What do you go on tramp for?" "Because I must when the summer comes. I can't stay in town--I take the fiddle and sling a hand-bag over my shoulders and go off." "Where do you go?" "Anywhere. First by train twenty miles or so out of London, and then plunge into the country at random." "You tramp along the road. And then?" "Well--you see--the real point is that I take no money with me--only enough for the first day or two--five shillings or so. The fiddle pays my way. I play for bed and supper in a roadside inn. The people of the village come to hear; sometimes I play and sing; sometimes I play for them to dance; then I collect the coppers; next day I go on." "It sounds delightful for your audience. For me, listening to you is sufficient; as for the rest----" "It's more delightful than you can believe. Why, I know all the gipsies and their language; sometimes I camp with them. And I know most of the tramps. Some excellent fellows among the tramps. And there's no dress-coat and no dinner-parties." "What do you mean by saying that you must go?" "Well, I don't know. It's something in the blood. It's heredity, I suppose. My father was a vagabond before me----" "Did he also go on the tramp?" "Well, he was always moving on. He was an actor--of sorts. Some of them still remember him over here, though he went to America five and twenty years ago." "Do I remember him? Was his name Woodroffe?" "His stage name was Anthony--John Anthony. His real name was Woodroffe." "Anthony!" The doctor sat up. "Anthony? I have heard that name. Oh yes; I remember. Anthony! Strange! Only the other day----" he broke off. "Did you hear that name coupled with any--creditable incident?" "No--no, not very; it was in connection with a--a former wife.... How old are you, Dick?" "I am two and twenty." "Yes. I remember the case now--it was four and twenty years ago. One is always getting reminders. Dick, there's a young fellow of your name--a baronet--son of an Anglo-Indian; are you any relation to him?" "I've met him. We are very distant cousins, I believe. The more distant the better." "You don't like him? Well, he isn't quite your sort, is he? All the same, Dick, come and dine with me next Tuesday. You will meet him; but that won't matter. I expect some American people as well--rich people--_nouveaux riches_--the woman is interesting, the man is plain. They bring a girl with them--a girl, Miss Molly Pennefather. What's the matter?" For Dick jumped.