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Chapter 2

In a bedroom on the fourth floor of the hotel golf in Piccadilly,

the honorable Frederick III-Pood sat in bed with his knees drawn up to his chin

and glared at the day with the glare of mental anguish.

He had very little mind, but what he had was suffering.

He had just remembered.

It is like that in life.

You wake up feeling as if it is a fiddle.

You look at the window and see the sun, and thank heaven for a fine day.

You begin to plan a perfectly quarking luncheon party with some of the chapies you met last night

at the National Sporting Club.

And then you remember.

Oh, dash it, said the honorable Freddy, and after a moment's pause, and I was feeling so dashed happy.

...