the _Daily
Circle_ have had the sack. Some of our chaps have gone! Fleet Street's
full of men looking for jobs. About fifty papers have smashed up since
the thing began ... sporting papers mostly. It frightens you, this sort
of thing!..."

He came away from Fleet Street as quickly as possible. The nervous,
hectic state of the journalists made him feel nervous too.

"I'd better get among less jumpy people," he said to himself, and he
hurried towards Charing Cross. And there he met Jimphy. He did not
recognise him at first, for Jimphy was in khaki, and he would have
passed on without seeing him, had Jimphy not caught hold of his arm and
stopped him.

"Cutting a chap, damn you!" said Jimphy....

"Good Lord, I didn't know you!"

"Thought you didn't. Where you going?"

"Oh, nowhere. Just loafing about. Gilbert's down at Scotland Yard trying
to enlist."

"Is he, begad? Everybody seems to be trying to enlist. He'd much better
try to get a commission. I'm going home now. You come with me, Quinny.
Hi, hi!..." He hailed a taxi-cab, and, without waiting to hear what
Henry had to say, bundled him into it.

"Lord," he exclaimed, as he leant back in the cab, "it's years an' years
an' years since I saw you. Well, what do you think of this for a bally
war, eh? Millions of 'em ... all smackin' each other. I'm going out
soon!" He leant out of the window and shouted at the driver, "Hi, you
chap, hurry up, will you!

"I don't seem able to get anywhere quick enough nowadays," he said as he
sat back again in his seat. "You know," he went on, "we've never been to
the Empire yet, you an' me. Damned if we have! Never mind! We'll go when
the War's over!"

7

There were half a dozen women in the drawing-room with Cecily when Henry
and Jimphy entered it. In addition to the women, there were a
photographer and Boltt. The photographer had finished his work and was
preparing to depart, and Boltt was talking in his nice little clipped
voice about the working-class. It appeared that the working-class had
not realised the seriousness of the situation. The other classes had
been quick to understand and to offer themselves, but the
working-class.... No! Oo, noo! Boltt had written an article in the
_Evening Gazette_ full of gentle reproach to the working-class, but
without effect. The working-class had taken no notice. "Democracy, dear
ladies," said Boltt, with a downward motion of his fingers. "Democracy!"
A newspaper, a Labour newspaper