, and don't you think tuppence is too much for blasphemy?"

"Ask Ninian," Henry answered. "He knows all about humanity!"

"No, he doesn't. Bally mechanic! Aren't you, Ninian? Aren't you a damn
little mechanic with a screw-driver for a soul!..."

"You'll get a punch on the jaw in a minute, young fellow me lad!" Ninian
exclaimed, leaning over the table and slapping Gilbert on the cheek.

"Fined fourpence for threat of physical violence and ninepence for
executing the same," Roger murmured. "I'll enter it presently."

"Somebody should slay Roger," Gilbert said. "Somebody should take hold
of his neat little neck and wring it!..."

They finished their meal and sat back in their chairs, smoking and
chattering.

"What's all this about the human note, Gilbert?" Henry asked, and
Gilbert explained what had happened to him in the editor's room. "I
stopped a bobby in the Strand and asked him about it," he said, "but he
told me to move on. You ought to know what the human note is, Quinny.
You're a novelist, and novelists are supposed to know everything
nowadays!"

He did not wait for Henry to explain the meaning of the human note. "I
know what Dilton means by it," he said. "When _he_ talks of the human
note he means the greasy touch!"

"Slop in fact!" said Roger.

"That's it. Slop! My God, these journalists do love to splash about in
their emotions. They can't mention the North Pole without gulping in
their throats. Dilton gave me an example of the human note. There was a
bye-election in the East End the other day and one of the candidates put
his unfortunate infants into 'pearlies' and hawked them about the
constituency in a costermonger's barrow, carrying a notice with 'Vote
for Our Daddy!' on it. Dilton damned near blubbed when he told me about
it!"

"Rage?" said Henry.

"Rage!" Gilbert exclaimed. "Good Lord, no! The man was moved,
touched!... He blew his nose hard, and then told me that one touch of
nature makes the whole world kin! I'm damned if he didn't write a
leading article about it ... and they give him a couple of thousand a
year for organising sniffs for the million. All over England, I suppose
there were people snivelling over those brats and telling each other
that one touch of nature makes the whole world kin!... Oof! gimme the
whisky, somebody, for the love of the Lordy God! I want to be sick when
I think of the human note!"

"Well, of course," said Roger, "the slop is there, and it's no good
gettin