e lieutenant gave an outline of the letter he
proposed to write to the Admiralty. He also gave Mr. Spokesly his views
of the naval situation, attributing the nation's reverses entirely to
mismanagement of the harbours. They were not very clear views, and their
value was vitiated by a peculiarly irrelevant argument that consular
agents ought to be recruited from the ranks of retired shipmasters.

"'Tired shipmasters," he repeated, with unconscious irony, after the
tenth drink that morning. "Practical men. Size up situation. But what's
the use? Gov'ment won't lissen t'reason." He put down his glass and paid
the reckoning. Although he was not conscious of it, the lieutenant was a
happy man. He owned his own semi-detached villa over at Chingford, near
London, and the villa adjoining. His children were all grown up. Years
ago he had put his money into shipping and it had failed to pay a
dividend of more than three per cent. Now he was getting nearly thirty
per cent. His health was good, for even the interminable little drinks
at Floka's had no great effect upon him. He was doing very well out of
the war. A life of careful and cautious command was being crowned by a
season of gentle conviviality. He had achieved a position of respectable
eminence without ever having had an idea in his head. For him neither
the arts, the sciences, nor philosophy existed. His patriotism was a
rootless organism floating in a calm sea of sentiment. An intermittent
melancholy assailed him at the times when he thought of his son killed
at Mons. A wild young fellow. Got into a very expensive set in that
insurance office, where he worked. Brought up to be a gentleman, so one
couldn't very well grumble. Upset his mother something terrible. And now
he was gone and would never be any expense to anybody again. And his old
father was left to jog along as best he could. Ah, well! His other boy,
now, in an aircraft factory, was doing well. Wonderful how he'd taken to
these here motors. Probably get a very good billet after the war was
over. Saving money, too. Ah, well! It was an ill wind that blew nobody
any good. He tried to fix his attention, which had wandered a little, on
what Mr. Spokesly was saying. That gentleman was preoccupied with his
own immediate future and was trying to get away without hurting any
feelings. Keeping his eyes open and his mouth shut involved dropping all
unnecessary "top-hamper" as he himself phrased it. He rose.

"I got to go a