taking to drink after
doing such a thing."

"I--I think you're making a mistake," I said.

"I never make mistakes," Mr. Chase replied. "I am called Archibald the
All-Right, for I am infallible. I propose to keep a reflective eye upon
the jovial Hawk."

He helped himself to another section of the chocolate cake.

"Haven't you finished _yet_, Tom?" inquired Phyllis. "I'm sure Mr.
Garnet's getting tired of sitting talking here," she said.

I shot out a polite negative. Mr. Chase explained with his mouth full
that he had by no means finished. Chocolate cake, it appeared, was the
dream of his life. When at sea he was accustomed to lie awake o' nights
thinking of it.

"You don't seem to realise," he said, "that I have just come from a
cruise on a torpedo-boat. There was such a sea on as a rule that
cooking operations were entirely suspended, and we lived on ham and
sardines--without bread."

"How horrible!"

"On the other hand," added Mr. Chase philosophically, "it didn't matter
much, because we were all ill most of the time."

"Don't be nasty, Tom."

"I was merely defending myself. I hope Mr. Hawk will be able to do as
well when his turn comes. My aim, my dear Phyllis, is to show you in a
series of impressionist pictures the sort of thing I have to go through
when I'm not here. Then perhaps you won't rend me so savagely over a
matter of five minutes' lateness for breakfast."

"Five minutes! It was three-quarters of an hour, and everything was
simply frozen."

"Quite right too in weather like this. You're a slave to convention,
Phyllis. You think breakfast ought to be hot, so you always have it
hot. On occasion I prefer mine cold. Mine is the truer wisdom. You can
give the cook my compliments, Phyllis, and tell her--gently, for I
don't wish the glad news to overwhelm her--that I enjoyed that cake.
Say that I shall be glad to hear from her again. Care for a game of
tennis, Garnet?"

"What a pity Norah isn't here," said Phyllis. "We could have had a
four."

"But she is at present wasting her sweetness on the desert air of
Yeovil. You had better sit down and watch us, Phyllis. Tennis in this
sort of weather is no job for the delicately-nurtured feminine. I will
explain the finer points of my play as we go on. Look out particularly
for the Tilden Back-Handed Slosh. A winner every time."

We proceeded to the tennis court. I played with the sun in my eyes. I
might, if I chose, emphasise that fact, and attribute