time,
and a councillor arose and in timid tones said:

"I rise to propose the toast of the architect and contractor."

George was so astounded that he caught scarcely anything of the speech.
It was incredible to him that he, the creative artist, who was solely
responsible for the architecture and decoration of the monument, in
whose unique mind it had existed long before the second brick had been
placed upon the first, should be bracketed in a toast with the tradesman
and middleman who had merely supervised the execution of his scheme
according to rules of thumb. He flushed. He wanted to walk out. But
nobody else appeared to be disturbed. George, who had never before
attended an inauguration, was simply not aware that the toast 'architect
and contractor' was the classic British toast, invariably drunk on such
occasions, and never criticised. He thought: "What a country!" and
remembered hundreds of Mr. Enwright's remarks.... Phrases of the orator
wandered into his ear. "The competition system.... We went to Sir Hugh
Corver, the head of the architectural profession [loud applause] and Sir
Hugh Corver assured us that the design of Mr. George Cannon was the
best. [Hear, hear! Hear, hear!]... Mr. Phirrip, head of the famous firm
of Phirrips Limited [loud applause] ... fortunate, after our misfortune
with the original contractor to obtain such a leading light.... Cannot
sufficiently thank these two--er _officials_ for the intellect, energy,
and patience they have put into their work."

As the speech was concluding, a tactless man sitting next to George,
with whom he had progressed very slowly in acquaintance during the
lunch, leaned towards him and murmured in a confidential tone:

"Did I tell you both naval yards up here have just had orders to work
day and night? Yes. Fact."

George's mind ran back to Mr. Prince, and Mr. Prince's prophecy of war.
Was there something in it after all? The thought passed in an instant,
but the last vestiges of his equanimity had gone. Hearing his name he
jumped up in a mist inhabited by inimical phantoms, and, amid feeble
acclamations here and there, said he knew not what in a voice now
absurdly loud and now absurdly soft, and sat down, amid more feeble
acclamations, feeling an angry fool. It was the most hideous experience.
He lit a cigarette, his first that day.

When Mr. Phirrips rose, the warm clapping was expectant of good things.

"When I was a little boy I remember my father tel