112 The Light That Failed He slipped his feet into a pair of sock-like sambhurskin foot coverings, found a long chair, and lay at length. “They’re my own pet pair,” Torpenhow said. “I was just going to put them on myself.” “All your reprehensible selfishness. Just because you see me happy for a minute, you want to worry me and stir me up. Find another pair.” “Good for you that Dick can’t wear your clothes, Torp. You two live communistically,” said the Nilgha1. “Dick never has anything that I can wear. He’s only useful to sponge upon.” “Confound you, have you been rummaging round among my clothes, then?” said Dick. “I put a sovereign in the tobacco-jar yesterday. How do you expect a man to keep his accounts properly if you —” Here the Nilghai began to laugh, and Torpenhow joined him. “Hid a sovereign yesterday! You’re no sort of financier. You lent me a fiver about a month back. Do you remember?” Torpenhow said. “Yes, of course.” “Do you remember that I paid it you ten days later, and you put it at the bottom of the tobacco?” “By Jove, did I? I thought it was in one of my boxes-boxes.” “You thought! About a week ago I went into your studio to get some ’baccy and found it.” “What did you do with it?” “Took the Nilghai to a theater and fed him.” “You couldn’t feed the Nilghai under twice the money — not though you gave him Army beef. Well, I suppose I should have found it out sooner or later. What is there to laugh at?” “You're a most amazing cuckoo in many directions,” said the Nilghai, still chuckling over the thought of