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By Root 4629 0

� a frown like a sudden spasm of pain. "Mr. Salter prefers water." "Nothing like it," said Uncle Theodore. "I respect him for it." "Well, as a matter of fact..." Both ladies addressed him urgently and simultaneously: "You're a great walker, Mr. Salter," in challenging tones from Lady Trilby; "It is quite a treat for you to get away from your work into the country," more gently from Mrs. Boot. By the time that Mr. Salter had dealt civilly with these two misstatements, the subject of wine was closed. Dinner was protracted for nearly an hour, but not because of any great profusion or variety of food. It was rather a bad dinner; scarcely better than he would have got at Lord Copper's infamous table; greatly inferior to the daintily garnished little dishes which he enjoyed at home. In course of time each member of the Boot family had evolved an individual style of eating; before each plate was ranged a little store of seasonings and delicacies, all marked with their owner's initials � onion salt, Bombay duck, gherkins, garlic vinegar, Dijon mustard, peanut butter, icing sugar, varieties of biscuit from Bath and Tunbridge Wells, Parmesan cheese, and a dozen other jars and bottles and tins mingled incongruously with the heavy, Georgian silver; Uncle Theodore had a little spirit lamp and chafing dish with which he concocted a sauce. The dishes as sent in from the kitchen were rather the elementary materials of dinner, than the dinner itself. Mr. Salter found them correspondingly dull and unconscionably slow in coming. Conversation was general and itermittent. Like Foreign News bulletins, Boot family tabletalk took the form of antithetical statement rather than of free discussion. "Priscilla took Annabel with her to the Caldicotes," said Lady Trilby. "She left her behind," said Mrs. Boot. "A dirty old dog," said Uncle Bernard. "Too old to go visiting," said Uncle Roderick. "Too dirty." "Mr. Salter is having Annabel to sleep with him," said Mrs. Boot. "Mr. Salter is very fond of her," said Lady Trilby. "He doesn't know her," said Uncle Bernard. "He's very fond of all dogs," said Mrs. Boot. There was a pause in which James announced: "If you please, madam, the men have sent up to say it is too dark to go on moving the slag." "Very awkward," said Uncle Roderick. "Blocks the back drive." "And Mr. Salter will have no things for the night," said Mrs. Boot "William will lend him some." "Mr. Salter will not mind. He will understand." "But he is sorry to have lost his things."

Presently Mr. Salter got the hang of it. "It is a long way from the station," he ventured. "You stopped on the way." "Yes, to ask...I was lost." "You stopped several times."

At last dinner came to an end. "He got better towards the end of dinner," said Lady Trilby in the drawing-room. "He is practically himself again," said Mrs. Boot. "Roderick will see that he does not get at the port."

"You won't take port," said Uncle Roderick. "Well, as a matter of fact..." "Push it round Bernard, there's a good fellow." "You and William have business to discuss." "Yes," said Mr. Salter eagerly. "Yes, it's most important." "You could go to the library." "Yes." William led his guest from the table and out of the room. "Common little fellow," said Uncle Roderick. "It's a perfectly good name," said Uncle Bernard. "An early corruption of saltire, which no doubt he bears on his coat. But of course it may have been assumed irregularly." "Can't hold it," said Uncle Theodore. "I always understood that the true Salters became extinct in the fifteenth century..."

In the library William for the first time had the chance of apologizing for the neglect of his guest. "Of course, of course. I quite understand that living where you do you are naturally distracted...I would not have intruded on you for the world. But it was a matter of first-rate importance � of Lord Copper's personal wishes, you understand. "There are two things. First, your contract with us. Boot," said Mr. Salter earnestly, "you won't desert the ship?" "Eh?" "I mean it was the Beast that gave you your chance. You mustn't forget that?" "No." "I suppose the Brute have made a very attractive offer. But believe me, Boot, I've known Fleet Street longer than you have. I've seen several men transfer from us to them. They thought they were going to be better off but they weren't. It's no life for a man of individuality, working for the Brute. You'd be selling your soul, Boot...You haven't, by the way, sold it?" "No. They did send me a telegram. But to tell you the truth I was so glad to be home that I forgot to answer it." "Thank heaven. I've got a contract here, ready drawn up. Duplicate copies. They only need your signature. Luckily I did not pack them in my suitcase. A life contract for two thousand a year. Will you sign?" William signed. He and Mr. Salter each folded his copy and put it in his pocket; each with a feeling of deep satisfaction. "And then there's the question of the banquet. There won't be any difficulty about that now. I quite understand that while the Brute offer was still in the air...Well, I'm delighted it's settled. You had better come up with me tomorrow morning. Lord Copper may want to see you beforehand." "No." "But, my dear Boot...You need have no worry about your speech. That is being written for you by Lord Copper's social secretary. It will be quite simple. Five minutes or so in praise of Lord Copper." "No." "The banquet will be widely reported. There may even be a film made of it." "No." "Really, Boot, I can't understand you at all." "Well," said William with difficulty, "I should feel an ass." "Yes," said Mr. Salter, "I can understand that. But it's only for one evening." "I've felt an ass for weeks. Ever since I went to London. I've been treated like an ass." "Yes," said Mr. Salter sadly. "That's what we are paid for." "It's one thing being an ass in Africa. But if I go to this banquet they may learn about it down here." "No doubt they would." "Nannie Bloggs and Nannie Price and everyone." Mr. Salter was not in fighting form and he knew it. The strength was gone out of him. He was dirty and blistered and aching in every limb, cold sober and unsuitably dressed. He was in a strange country. These people were not his people nor their laws his. He felt like a Roman legionary, heavily armed, weighted with the steel and cast brass of civilization, tramping through forests beyond the Roman pale, harassed by silent, illusive savages, the vanguard of an advance that had pushed too far and lost touch with the base...or was he the abandoned rearguard of a retreat; had the legions sailed? "I think," he said, "I'd better ring up the office and ask their advice." "You can't do that," said William cheerfully. "The nearest office is three miles away; there's no car; and anyway it shuts at seven." Silence fell in the library. Once more Mr. Salter rallied to the attack. He tried sarcasm. "These ladies you mention, no doubt they are estimable people, but surely, my dear Boot, you will admit that Lord Copper is a little more important." "No," said William gravely. "Not down here."