There was nothing else to do; so he did it.  Civil and certain social obligations were mechanically reassumed; he appeared in his sister’s pew for worship, he reenrolled in his clubs as a resident member once more; the directors of such charities as he meddled with he notified of his return; he remitted his dues to the various museums and municipal or private organisations which had always expected support from his family; he subscribed to the Sun.

He was more conservative, however, in mending the purely social strands so long relaxed or severed.  The various registers and blue-books recorded his residence under “dilatory domiciles”; he did not subscribe to the opera, preferring to chance it in case harmony-hunger attacked him; pre-Yuletide functions he dodged, considering that his sister’s days in January and attendance at other family formalities were sufficient.

Meanwhile he was looking for two things—­an apartment and a job—­the first energetically combated by his immediate family.

It was rather odd—­the scarcity of jobs.  Of course Austin offered him one which Selwyn declined at once, comfortably enraging his brother-in-law for nearly ten minutes.

“But what do I know about the investment of trust funds?” demanded Selwyn; “you wouldn’t take me if I were not your wife’s brother—­and that’s nepotism.”

Austin’s harmless fury raged for nearly ten minutes, after which he cheered up, relighted his cigar, and resumed his discussion with Selwyn concerning the merits of various boys’ schools—­the victim in prospective being Billy.

A little later, reverting to the subject of his own enforced idleness, Selwyn said:  “I’ve been on the point of going to see Neergard—­but somehow I can’t quite bring myself to it—­slinking into his office as a rank failure in one profession, to ask him if he has any use for me again.”

“Stuff and fancy!” growled Gerard; “it’s all stuff and fancy about your being any kind of a failure.  If you want to resume with that Dutchman, go to him and say so.  If you want to invest anything in his Long Island schemes he’ll take you in fast enough.  He took in Gerald and some twenty thousand.”

“Isn’t he very prosperous, Austin?”

“Very—­on paper.  Long Island farm lands and mortgages on Hampton hen-coops are not fragrant propositions to me.  But there’s always one more way of making a living after you counted ’em all up on your fingers.  If you’ve any capital to offer Neergard, he won’t shriek for help.”

“But isn’t suburban property—­”

“On the jump?  Yes—­both ways.  Oh, I suppose that Neergard is all right—­if he wasn’t I wouldn’t have permitted Gerald to go into it.  Neergard sticks to his commissions and doesn’t back his fancy in certified checks.  I don’t know exactly how he operates; I only know that we find nothing in that sort of thing for our own account.  But Fane, Harmon & Co. do.  That’s their affair, too; it’s all a matter of taste, I tell you.”