r's opinion was desired
was, whether Hemmings should be sent out to see what was the matter
with the superintendent. During the discussion which ensued, he was an
unwilling listener to strictures on Pippin's silence. "The explosion,"
he muttered at last, "a very trying time!"

Mr. Booker pounced on him. "A very trying time! So it was--to all of us.
But what excuse is that--now, Mr. Scorrier, what excuse is that?"

Scorrier was obliged to admit that it was none.

"Business is business--eh, what?"

Scorrier, gazing round that neat Board-room, nodded. A deaf director,
who had not spoken for some months, said with sudden fierceness: "It's
disgraceful!" He was obviously letting off the fume of long-unuttered
disapprovals. One perfectly neat, benevolent old fellow, however,
who had kept his hat on, and had a single vice--that of coming to the
Board-room with a brown paper parcel tied up with string--murmured: "We
must make all allowances," and started an anecdote about his youth. He
was gently called to order by his secretary. Scorrier was asked for
his opinion. He looked at Hemmings. "My importance is concerned," was
written all over the secretary's face. Moved by an impulse of loyalty to
Pippin, Scorrier answered, as if it were all settled: "Well, let me know
when you are starting, Hemmings--I should like the trip myself."

As he was going out, the chairman, old Jolyon Forsyte, with a grave,
twinkling look at Hemmings, took him aside. "Glad to hear you say that
about going too, Mr. Scorrier; we must be careful--Pippin's such a good
fellow, and so sensitive; and our friend there--a bit heavy in the hand,
um?"

Scorrier did in fact go out with Hemmings. The secretary was sea-sick,
and his prostration, dignified but noisy, remained a memory for ever;
it was sonorous and fine--the prostration of superiority; and the way in
which he spoke of it, taking casual acquaintances into the caves of his
experience, was truly interesting.

Pippin came down to the capital to escort them, provided for their
comforts as if they had been royalty, and had a special train to take
them to the mines.

He was a little stouter, brighter of colour, greyer of beard, more
nervous perhaps in voice and breathing. His manner to Hemmings was full
of flattering courtesy; but his sly, ironical glances played on the
secretary's armour like a fountain on a hippopotamus. To Scorrier,
however, he could not show enough affection:

The first evening, w