It seemed to Lord Emsworth that for a man so recently reduced to beggary by losses on the Stock Exchange this Tipton, whom with a powerful effort of memory he had now recognized, was extraordinarily buoyant, and he honored him for his courage and resilience. He was reminded of a Kipling poem the curate had recited at a village entertainment his sister Constance had once made him attend---something about if you can something something and never something something, you'll be a man, my son, or words to that effect.
"How was the coffee, Tipon?" he said.
"Pull yourself together, Clarence," said Gally. "You're dithering."
"I'm doing nothing of the sort," said Lord Emsworth warmly. "We had a most interesting conversation on the phone one night in New York, and he told me he was going to have a cup of coffee and a piece of pie."
"Oh, sure, yes, I remember," said Tipton. "And talking of that, I owe you twenty dollars."
"My dear fellow!"
"I'll give you a cheque when I get back to the house."
Lord Emsworth was horrified.
"No, really, you mustn't dream of it. I am amply provided with funds and you cannot possibly afford it. Let us forget the whole thing. Tipton," he explained to Gally, "has lost all his money on the Stock Exchange."
Gally looked grave. As has been said, he liked Tipton and wished him well, and being familiar with his sister Hermione's prejudice against penniless aspirants for her daughter's hand he feared this was going to affect his matrimonial plans to no little extent. Like so many mothers, Lady Hermione expected a son-in-law to ante up and contribute largely to the kitty.
"Is this true," he asked, concerned.
Tipton laughed amusedly.
"No, of course it isn't. I'm afraid I misled Lord Emsworth that night in New York. I've never lost a nickel in the market. All I wanted was twenty bucks to get self and friend out of the pokey. Somebody had got away with my roll, leaving me without a cent, and a cop told me bail could be arranged if somebody would loan me the needful. So I thought of Lord Emsworth."
Illumination came to Gally, and with it a renewed feeling that this young man would have been just the sort of new blood the Pelican would have welcomed.
"Oh, you had been pinched?"
"Drunk and disorderly?"
"I see." A wave of nostalgia flooded over Gally as his thoughts went back to the day when he, too, had lived in Arcady. "I was always getting pinched for d. and d. myself in my younger days. This was especially so when I supped at the old Gardenia---pulled down now, I regret to say, to make room for a Baptist chapel of all things. I was more or less of a marked man there. The bouncers used to fight for the privilege of throwing me out, and there seldom failed to be a couple of the gendarmerie waiting in the street as I shot through the door, on me like wolves and intensely skeptical of my sobriety. I always felt I was slipping in those days if it didn't take two of them to get me to the police bin, with another walking behind carrying my hat..."
---from Galahad at Blandings by P.G. Wodehouse.