commanded, and the waiter brought it with an air that
said "Ichabod" for the Imperium. "As soon as ever Edge comes back, I
shall draw his attention to the curry."

Everybody else had rather lost their interest in the subject. Neeld and
Harry were in conversation. Iver sat down by Southend, and, while lunch
was preparing, endeavored to distract his mind by giving him a history
of the morning. Southend too was concerned in Blinkhampton. Gradually
the curry was forgotten as he listened to the story of Harry's victory.

"Sort of young fellow who might be useful?" he suggested presently.

"That's what I was thinking. He's quite ready to work too, I fancy."

Southend regarded his friend. He was thinking that if this and that
happened--and they were things now within the bounds of
possibility--Iver might live to be sorry that Harry was not to be his
son-in-law. Hastily and in ignorance he included Janie in the scope of
this supposed regret. But at this moment the guilty and incompetent Mr
Gore-Marston had the misfortune to come in. Southend, all his grievance
revived, fell on him tooth and nail. His defence was feeble; he admitted
that he knew next to nothing of curries, and--yes, the cook did get
careless when Wilmot Edge's vigilant eye was removed.

"He'll be home soon," Gore-Marston pleaded. "I've had a letter from him;
he's just got back to civilization after being out in the wilderness,
shooting, for six weeks. He'll be here in a month now, I think."

"We shall have to salary him to stay," growled Southend.

Harry was amused at this little episode, and listened smiling.
Possessing a knowledge of curries seemed an odd way to acquire
importance for a fellow-creature, a strange reason for a man's return
being desired. He knew who Wilmot Edge was, and it was funny to hear of
him again in connection with curries. And curries seemed the only reason
why anybody should be interested in Colonel Edge's return. Not till they
met again in the smoking-room were the curries finally forgotten.

In later days Harry came to look back on that afternoon as the beginning
of many new things for him. Iver and Southend talked; old Mr Neeld sat
by, listening with the interest of a man who feels he has missed
something in life and would fain learn, even though he is too old to
turn the knowledge to account. Harry found himself listening too, but in
a different way.

They were not talking idly; they talked for him. That much he soon
disce