hat the
miniature rifle-range had been started. He was one of the governors of
the Cranberry Cottage Hospital. He always subscribed to the annual
Territorial sports, patronised the boy scouts, openly advocated
conscription, and the two-power standard for the Navy. There were
times when Streatham found it almost embarrassing to be possessed of a
patriot in its midst.

Never had a breath of scandal tarnished the fair name of Mr. Montagu
Naylor. He was what a citizen should be and seldom is. When war broke
out his activities became almost bewildering. He joined innumerable
committees, helped to form the volunteers, and encouraged every one and
everything that was likely to make things uncomfortable for the enemy.
Later, he became a member of the local exemption tribunal, and earned
fame by virtue of his clemency. It was he who was instrumental in
obtaining exemption for some of James's most implacable enemies. The
baker, who had lost the whole of his temper and a portion of his
trousers, probably owed his life to the manner in which Mr. Naylor
championed his claim that bread is mightier than the sword.

Before the war the Naylors received twice each month, once their
friends and once their relatives. Never were the two allowed to meet.
"Our friends we make ourselves, our relatives are given to us," Mr.
Naylor had explained with ponderous humour, "I hate to mix the two."
It was noticed that the relatives stayed much longer than the friends,
and some commiseration was felt for the Naylors by their immediate
neighbours.

There had been one curious circumstance in connection with these social
functions. Whenever the friends were invited, James was always in the
front garden, restrained by a chain that allowed of the guests carrying
their calves into the hall with an eighteen inch margin of safety.
When, however, it was the turn of the relatives to seek the hospitality
of "The Cedars," James was never visible. A cynic might have construed
this into indicating that from his relatives Mr. Naylor had
expectations.

Within his own home Mr. Naylor was a changed man. He ruled Mrs.
Naylor, Susan and James with an iron hand. They all fawned upon him,
vainly inviting the smiles that when others were present seemed never
to fail in the mechanical precision with which they illumined his
features at appropriate moments. They gave the impression of being
turned on, as if controlled by a tap or switch. Never was this smil