tery," asked Fisher, "and makes all the silver forks, and
grows all the grapes and peaches, and designs all the patterns on
the carpets? I've always heard he was a busy man."

"I don't think he mentioned it," answered the lawyer. "What is the
meaning of this social satire?"

"Well, I am a trifle tired," said Fisher, "of the Simple Life and
the Strenuous Life as lived by our little set. We're all really
dependent in nearly everything, and we all make a fuss about being
independent in something. The Prime Minister prides himself on doing
without a chauffeur, but he can't do without a factotum and
Jack-of-all-trades; and poor old Bunker has to play the part of a
universal genius, which God knows he was never meant for. The duke
prides himself on doing without a valet, but, for all that, he must
give a lot of people an infernal lot of trouble to collect such
extraordinary old clothes as he wears. He must have them looked up
in the British Museum or excavated out of the tombs. That white hat
alone must require a sort of expedition fitted out to find it, like
the North Pole. And here we have old Hook pretending to produce his
own fish when he couldn't produce his own fish knives or fish forks
to eat it with. He may be simple about simple things like food, but
you bet he's luxurious about luxurious things, especially little
things. I don't include you; you've worked too hard to enjoy playing
at work."

"I sometimes think," said Harker, "that you conceal a horrid secret
of being useful sometimes. Haven't you come down here to see Number
One before he goes on to Birmingham?"

Horne Fisher answered, in a lower voice: "Yes; and I hope to be
lucky enough to catch him before dinner. He's got to see Sir Isaac
about something just afterward."

"Hullo!" exclaimed Harker. "Sir Isaac's finished his fishing. I
know he prides himself on getting up at sunrise and going in at
sunset."

The old man on the island had indeed risen to his feet, facing round
and showing a bush of gray beard with rather small, sunken features,
but fierce eyebrows and keen, choleric eyes. Carefully carrying his
fishing tackle, he was already making his way back to the mainland
across a bridge of flat stepping-stones a little way down the
shallow stream; then he veered round, coming toward his guests and
civilly saluting them. There were several fish in his basket and he
was in a good temper.

"Yes," he said, acknowledging Fisher's polite expression of