tion was electrical. Lady Knob-Kerrick
dropped her lorgnettes and lost her place. Mr. MacFie's "adam's apple"
moved up and down with alarming rapidity, testifying to the great
emotional ordeal through which he was passing. Mr. Hearty looked at
Mrs. Bindle, Mrs. Bindle looked at Bindle, everybody looked at
everybody else, because everyone had heard of the Temperance Fete
fiasco. Lady Knob-Kerrick resumed her seat suddenly.

Then it was that Mr. Hearty had an inspiration. With a swift movement
which precipitated him on the foot of Miss Torkington (whose anguished
expression caused Bindle to mutter, "Fancy 'er bein' able to do that
with 'er face!"), he landed beside Mr. Sopley. He managed to detach
his eyes from their contemplation of the ceiling and impress on him
that he had better make a reply. As he walked the few steps necessary
to reach the table, Bindle once more started clapping vigorously, a
greeting that was taken up by several of the other guests, but in a
more modified manner.

In a mournful and foreboding voice, thoroughly appropriate to an hour
of national disaster, Mr. Sopley thanked Lady Knob-Kerrick for her
words, and the others for their notes. He referred to the shepherd,
dragged in the sheep, scooped up the righteous, cast out the sinners;
in short he said all the most obvious things in the most obvious
manner. He promised the Alton Roaders harps and halos, and threw the
rest of Fulham into the bottomless pit. With some dexterity he
linked-up sin and the taxi-cab, saw in the motor-omnibus the cause of
the weakening moral-fibre of the working-classes, expressed it as his
conviction that Europe was being drenched in blood because Fulham
thought less of faith than of football.

He was frankly pessimistic about the future of the district, an
attitude of mind that appeared to have been induced by the garments of
the local maidens. Fire and flood he promised Fulham, but made no
mention of Hammersmith or Putney. In a voice that throbbed with
emotion he took his official leave, having convinced everybody that
only his intercessionary powers with heaven had stalled off for so
long the impending fate he outlined.

Taking up from the table the bag of fifty pounds, he put it in his
pocket and with bowed head walked towards the nearest chair.

"'Ere, you've forgotten your bed-feller, sir!" cried Bindle, picking
up the silver-mounted hot-water bottle and the framed address and
carrying them over to Mr. Sopley.