"See here, my sucking Blackstone," struck in Clytie, answering for her sister. "You remind one of the old chestnut about the judge who was nicknamed Necessity, because he knew no law. You haven't even begun to know any. Delia's of full age, and therefore no one could sue but her. The old man's counted out." "You seemed to know more than enough that time you were under cross-examination," jeered the exasperated Bob. "Yes, I didn't do badly," acquiesced Clytie, her serenity quite unruffled. "But you know, Bob, you're an awful juggins--yes, an out and out juggins." "I suppose so. May I ask why?" "Certainly. Here you are putting Delia up to a scheme which is like being content with one silver spoon when you could collar the whole swag." (The speaker was in course of typing a detective story.) "Now-- d'you see?" "Hanged if I do," snorted Bob. "There's nothing in it either. These Wagrams are rolling in coin, but you mustn't pitch your claim too high. There's such a thing as `excessive' damages, appeal, and so forth. How's that, old female Solomon? You see I do know a little about things after all." "Not anything--not anything," came the reply, sweetly smiling. "Who's talking about damages? That's not the plum at all." "What is, then?" "Capture the man. See? It's quite simple. Capture the man. Yes? Does that make your chin rap the toes of your boots?" For Bob was standing open-mouthed. The cool audacity of the scheme had struck him dazed, breathless. "Fudge!" he snorted. "It can't be done." "Why not?" "Why not? Because these Wagrams are tip-top swells--regular high flyers. I don't mean only that they've got pots of money, and just about everything else. But, hang it all, look at them, look at us! No fear. That cock won't fight, I tell you--no, not for half-an-hour." "Not, eh? Bob, as I said before, you're a juggins; a juggins of the first water," retorted Clytie, sweetly. "A man is always--a man. No matter how tip-top, and so forth, he may be, there's no getting away from that." "Bosh! You've been reading too many of these high-falutin' novels they give you to type. That sort of thing doesn't happen in real life, I tell you." "Your knowledge and experience of real life being exhaustive," was the unruffled reply. "Let me tell you that sort of thing does happen in real life, happens every day. It only wants working." "Does it? I say, Clytie, why don't you take on the job yourself, as Delia doesn't seem over sweet on it?" said Bob, with a guffaw. "That heavenly expression of yours ought to carry all before it. It only wants working. Ha--ha!"