Suddenly I felt a hand grasp my shoulder and a voice exclaim: “Renny, by all the saints!” I turned--and it was Jason. He held me at arm’s length and cried again: “Renny? Really?--and a true sportsman as of old!” Then he leaned to me and whispered with a grin: “I say, old fellow, if it wasn’t for luck you might be any day where he stood just now.” CHAPTER XIX. A MENACE. At first I hardly grasped the import of my brother’s words, or the fact that here was the old fateful destiny upon me again, so lost were the few faculties I could command in wonder at his unexpected appearance in London. I stared and stared and had not a word to say. “Where’s your tongue, old chap?” he cried. “This is an affectionate greeting on your part, upon my word, and after near four years, too.” I pressed my hand across my forehead and strove to smooth the confusion therefrom. “You must forgive me,” I said at length; “this sudden meeting has driven me all abroad; and then I got stuck down there by mistake, and the sight has half-turned my brain, I think.” “By mistake, was it?” he said, with a mocking titter. “Oh, Renny, don’t I know you?--though your looks are changed, too, for the matter of that; more than mine are, I expect.” I could well believe. Soul and manhood must have wrought new expression in me; but, for Jason, he was the Jason of old--fuller, more set and powerful; yet the same beautiful personality with the uninterpretable eyes. “Well,” he said, “aren’t you surprised to see me?” “Surprise isn’t the word.” “Nor pleasure either, I expect.” “No. I should be a liar to say it was.” “Well, you used to be that, you know; though I dare say you’ve found out the better policy now.” “At any rate, as you’re here, you’ll come home with me, won’t you?” “Of course. That’s what I intend. I’ve been in London three or four days, and went over to your old place yesterday, but found you had left. I got the new address off a queer old chap there. Why didn’t you tell us you had changed?” “I did. I wrote to dad about it.” “Well, anyhow, he never told me.” “That seems funny. How is he?” “Oh, the same old besotted curmudgeon as ever.” “Don’t, Jason. Dad’s dad for all his failings.” “Yes, and Zyp’s Zyp for all hers.” It gave me a thrill to hear the old name spoken familiarly, though by such reckless lips. “Is--is she all right?” “She’s Zyp, I tell you, and that means anything that’s sprightly and unquenchable. Let her alone for a jade; I’m sick of her name.” Was it evident from this that his suit had not prospered? I looked at his changing eyes and my heart reeled with a sudden sick intoxication of hope. Was my reasoning to be all gone through with again? “Come,” I said, “let’s make for my place. A fellow-hand lives with me there.”