"I'm only wasting my time here...." Francis wrote a letter of recommendation to Barnes, the great K.C., considered a stray brief which had found its way in, and strolled up towards the Milan as the hour approached luncheon-time.

In the American bar of that palatial hotel he found the young man he was looking for--a flaxen-haired youth who was seated upon one of the small tables, with his feet upon a chair, laying down the law to a little group of acquaintances.

He greeted Francis cordially but without that due measure of respect which nineteen should accord to thirty-five.
"Cheerio, my elderly relative!" he exclaimed.

"Have a cocktail." Francis nodded assent.
"Come into this corner with me for a moment, Charles," he invited.

"I have a word for your ear." The young man rose and sat by his uncle's side on a settee.
"In my declining years," the latter began, "I find myself reverting to the follies of youth.