My solicitor, to whom I took Mr. Bundercombe, most
regretfully advised him to settle out of court.
"The friends Mr. Bundercombe is now making and may make in later life,"
the lawyer remarked, "will certainly not appreciate the adventurous spirit
that--er--induced him to make acquaintances among a certain class of
people. Therefore, in the interests of my client, Mr. Walmsley, as well as
your own, Mr. Bundercombe," he concluded, "I am afraid I must advise you,
very much against my own inclinations, to settle this matter."
Mr. Bundercombe left the lawyer's office thoroughly depressed.
"It isn't the money!" he declared gloomily. "It's being bested by this
little gang of thieves that irritates me!"
"I am sure," I told him, "that Mr. Wymans' advice is sound. If the case
goes into court and comes up before the committee--even of a rotten club
like the Sidney--I am afraid you would have to withdraw your membership
from the other places; and you might find the affair continually cropping
up and causing you annoyance."
Mr. Bundercombe heaved a mighty sigh.
"Well, we've got two days left," he said. "If nothing happens before then
I'll pay up."
* * * * *
Mr. Bundercombe rang me up on the morning of the last day appointed for
his decision.
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