here was a theory about the planets, wasn't there?" asked Ridley.

"A screw loose somewhere, no doubt of it," said Mr. Pepper, shaking his
head.

Now a tremor ran through the table, and a light outside swerved. At the
same time an electric bell rang sharply again and again.

"We're off," said Ridley.

A slight but perceptible wave seemed to roll beneath the floor; then it
sank; then another came, more perceptible. Lights slid right across the
uncurtained window. The ship gave a loud melancholy moan.

"We're off!" said Mr. Pepper. Other ships, as sad as she, answered
her outside on the river. The chuckling and hissing of water could be
plainly heard, and the ship heaved so that the steward bringing plates
had to balance himself as he drew the curtain. There was a pause.

"Jenkinson of Cats--d'you still keep up with him?" asked Ambrose.

"As much as one ever does," said Mr. Pepper. "We meet annually. This
year he has had the misfortune to lose his wife, which made it painful,
of course."

"Very painful," Ridley agreed.

"There's an unmarried daughter who keeps house for him, I believe, but
it's never the same, not at his age."

Both gentlemen nodded sagely as they carved their apples.

"There was a book, wasn't there?" Ridley enquired.

"There _was_ a book, but there never _will_ be a book," said Mr. Pepper
with such fierceness that both ladies looked up at him.

"There never will be a book, because some one else has written it for
him," said Mr. Pepper with considerable acidity. "That's what comes of
putting things off, and collecting fossils, and sticking Norman arches
on one's pigsties."

"I confess I sympathise," said Ridley with a melancholy sigh. "I have a
weakness for people who can't begin."

". . . The accumulations of a lifetime wasted," continued Mr. pepper.
"He had accumulations enough to fill a barn."

"It's a vice that some of us escape," said Ridley. "Our friend Miles has
another work out to-day."

Mr. Pepper gave an acid little laugh. "According to my calculations," he
said, "he has produced two volumes and a half annually, which,
allowing for time spent in the cradle and so forth, shows a commendable
industry."

"Yes, the old Master's saying of him has been pretty well realised,"
said Ridley.

"A way they had," said Mr. Pepper. "You know the Bruce collection?--not
for publication, of course."

"I should suppose not," said Ridley significantly. "For a Divine he
was--remarkably fre