It tickled Wolf’s fancy at this juncture to note the beaten-dog expression in Mr. Weevil’s countenance as he pulled Lobbie away with him and tried to shuffle off unobserved. In their hurried and rather ignominious retreat they ran straight into Wolf’s arms.

“Lordie! Hullo!” stammered Lob. “It’s Mr. Redfern⁠—I mean, Mr. Solent, ain’t it?” said Bob Weevil.

Wolf gravely shook hands with them both.

“It’s not easy to keep one’s money in one’s pocket on a day like this,” he remarked casually.

Mr. Weevil gave him a furtive water-rat glance; and Wolf would not have been surprised had the young man taken incontinently to his heels.