"DEAR SIRS,--We are in receipt of your favour and in reply beg to state
that nothing will induce us ... will induce us ... where did I put that
letter? Ah!... nothing will induce us ... oh, tell 'em to go to blazes,
Miss Milliken."

"Very well, Sir Mallaby."

"That's that. Ready? Messrs. Brigney, Goole and Butterworth. What
infernal names these people have. SIRS,--On behalf of our client ... oh,
hullo, Sam!"

"Good morning, father."

"Take a seat. I'm busy, but I'll be finished in a moment. Where was I,
Miss Milliken?"

"'On behalf of our client....'"

"Oh, yes. On behalf of our client Mr. Wibblesley Eggshaw.... Where
these people get their names I'm hanged if I know. Your poor mother
wanted to call you Hyacinth, Sam. You may not know it, but in the
'nineties when you were born, children were frequently christened
Hyacinth. Well, I saved you from that."

His attention now diverted to his son, Sir Mallaby seemed to remember
that the latter had just returned from a long journey and that he had
not seen him for many weeks. He inspected him with interest.

"Very glad you're back, Sam. So you didn't win?"

"No, I got beaten in the semi-finals."

"American amateurs are a very hot lot, the best ones. I suppose you were
weak on the greens. I warned you about that. You'll have to rub up your
putting before next year."

At the idea that any such mundane pursuit as practising putting could
appeal to his broken spirit now, Sam uttered a bitter laugh. It was as
if Dante had recommended some lost soul in the Inferno to occupy his
mind by knitting jumpers.

"Well, you seem to be in great spirits," said Sir Mallaby approvingly.
"It's pleasant to hear your merry laugh again. Isn't it, Miss Milliken?"

"Extremely exhilarating," agreed the stenographer, adjusting her
spectacles and smiling at Sam, for whom there was a soft spot in her
heart.

A sense of the futility of life oppressed Sam. As he gazed in the glass
that morning, he had thought, not without a certain gloomy satisfaction,
how remarkably pale and drawn his face looked. And these people seemed
to imagine that he was in the highest spirits. His laughter, which had
sounded to him like the wailing of a demon, struck Miss Milliken as
exhilarating.

"On behalf of our client, Mr. Wibblesley Eggshaw," said Sir Mallaby,
swooping back to duty once more, "we beg to state that we are prepared
to accept service ... what time did you dock this morning?"

"I landed ne