"What's up?"
"I asked you if you'd got any sisters."
"Any what?"
"Sisters."
"Whose sisters?"
"Yours. I asked if you'd got any."
"Any what?"
"Sisters."
"What about them?"
The conversation was becoming too intricate for Jellicoe. He changed the subject.
"I say, Jackson!"
"Well?"
"I say, you don't know any one who could lend me a pound, do you?"
"What!" cried Mike, sitting up in bed and staring through the darkness in the direction whence the numismatist's voice was proceeding. "Do what?"
"I say, look out. You'll wake Smith."
"Did you say you wanted some one to lend you a quid?"
"Yes," said Jellicoe eagerly. "Do you know any one?"
Mike's head throbbed. This thing was too much. The human brain could not be expected to cope with it. Here was a youth who had borrowed a pound from one friend the day before, and three pounds from another friend that very afternoon, already looking about him for further loans. Was it a hobby, or was he saving up to buy an aeroplane?
"What on earth do you want a pound for?"
"I don't want to tell anybody. But it's jolly serious. I shall get sacked if I don't get it."
Mike pondered.
Those who have followed Mike's career as set forth by the present historian will have realised by this time that he was a good long way from being perfect. As the Blue-Eyed Hero he would have been a rank failure. Except on the cricket field, where he was a natural genius, he
