them in the transfer office; said you'd be with them
in a minute; but I wasn't going to wake you."

"Haven't been asleep. Help me up."

Grasping the edge of the table with his trembling hands, the old man
pulled, and, with Farney heaving him behind, attained his feet. He stood
about five feet ten, and weighed fully fourteen stone; not corpulent, but
very thick all through; his round and massive head alone would have
outweighed a baby. With eyes shut, he seemed to be trying to get the
better of his own weight, then he moved with the slowness of a barnacle
towards the door. The secretary, watching him, thought: 'Marvellous old
chap! How he gets about by himself is a miracle! And he can't retire,
they say-lives on his fees!'

But the chairman was through the green baize door. At his tortoise gait
he traversed the inner office, where the youthful clerks suspended their
figuring--to grin behind his back--and entered the transfer office, where
eight gentlemen were sitting. Seven rose, and one did not. Old Heythorp
raised a saluting hand to the level of his chest and moving to an
arm-chair, lowered himself into it.

"Well, gentlemen?"

One of the eight gentlemen got up again.

"Mr. Heythorp, we've appointed Mr. Brownbee to voice our views. Mr.
Brownbee!" And down he sat.

Mr. Brownbee rose a stoutish man some seventy years of age, with little
grey side whiskers, and one of those utterly steady faces only to be seen
in England, faces which convey the sense of business from father to son
for generations; faces which make wars, and passion, and free thought
seem equally incredible; faces which inspire confidence, and awaken in
one a desire to get up and leave the room. Mr. Brownbee rose, and said in
a suave voice:

"Mr. Heythorp, we here represent about L14,000. When we had the pleasure
of meeting you last July, you will recollect that you held out a prospect
of some more satisfactory arrangement by Christmas. We are now in
January, and I am bound to say we none of us get younger."

From the depths of old Heythorp a preliminary rumble came travelling,
reached the surface, and materialised--

"Don't know about you--feel a boy, myself."

The eight gentlemen looked at him. Was he going to try and put them off
again? Mr. Brownbee said with unruffled calm:

"I'm sure we're very glad to hear it. But to come to the point. We have
felt, Mr. Heythorp, and I'm sure you won't think it unreasonable,
that--er--