You see, there was the thought that disaster had to happen eventually. This was the serious side, the sober side, yes, the tragic side, to a situation which would otherwise have been purely ridiculous. In the dark of the night, the tragedy part was always in my mind. It was always warning, always threatening me and so I moaned and tossed in my bed, and sleep was hard to find. But in the cheerful daylight the tragedy disappeared, and I walked on air. I was so happy that I felt giddy, almost drunk you might say.

And it was natural; for I had become rather well-known in the biggest city in the world. This turned my head - not just a little, but a good deal. You could not buy a newspaper, English, Scotch, or Irish, without finding in it one or more stories about the 'vest-pocket million-pounder' and his latest doings and sayings.

At first, when the newspapers mentioned me, I was at the bottom of the personal-gossip column. Next, I was listed above the knights, next above thebaronets, and next above the barons. It went on and on, climbing steadily, as my reputation increased, until I reached as high as it was possible to go. There I remained, coming above all dukes not royal, and of all churchmen apart from the top one in all England. But I knew this was not fame; so far I only had notoriety.