to work up," said Sam,
watching him eagerly.

"I'm thinking of another way," said Aymer slowly. "Christopher."

He rejoined them, standing by the grate and kicking the logs into
place. He did not look at Aymer.

"Sam has been telling me of his wishes," said Aymer. "I think them
quite excellent, but I've not quite decided on the best way to carry
them out. Go away and get your dinner and come back to me
afterwards."

The boys departed, and once in Christopher's den, the host turned to
his guest questioningly.

"Well, what do you think of Caesar?"

"He's a stunner, a jolly sight more sensible than you, Chris. But I
say," he added in a grumpy, husky voice, "is he always like that?"

"Like what?"

"On a sofa. Lying down."

"Yes," said Christopher shortly. He had become almost as sensitive on
that point as Aymer himself.

"He must get a bit tired of it. Didn't he ever walk?"

"Yes, of course. It was a shooting accident. Shut up, Sam, we all hate
talking of it."

The dinner that was served immediately somehow impressed Sam more than
any other event of the day. He had occasionally had a meal in a
restaurant with Christopher, and once had been in a dining-room at an
hotel, but it all seemed different to this intimate, comfortable
dinner. The white napery, the shining silver and delicate glass and
china, the serving of the simple meal was a revelation of his friend's
life, for Christopher took it all as a matter of course and was
unabashed by the presence of the second footman who waited on them.

There was soup, and cutlets in little paper dresses, tomatoes and
potatoes that bore no resemblance to the grimy vegetables Sam
dispensed daily. Then came strange bird-shaped things, about the size
of sparrows which Christopher called chicken and which had no bones in
them, cherry tart, with innumerable trifles with it, afterwards
something that looked like a solid browny-yellow cake, which gave way
to nothing when cut, and tasted of cheese. Finally there was fruit,
that was a crowning point, for Sam knew what pears cost that time of
year, and said so.

Christopher laughed. "These come from Marden," he explained. "Marden's
noted for pears; they have storages of different temperatures and keep
them back or ripen them as wanted. The fire's jolly after all, isn't
it?"

He stretched out his long legs to the fender, a very contented young
Sybarite for the moment.

"I say, Chris," said Sam abruptly, "I must tell you th