A NORMAL Bill Hollis would not have been slow to analyze this speech and to find a lurking insult. But he was not a normal Bill Hollis this evening; it was the last place he was likely to be in if he had been. Therefore he shook his head gently at Miss Searson without submitting her to any more destructive form of criticism. What a fool the woman was, what a common fool not to understand that in the presence of a war with Germany nothing else could possibly matter.

“I don’t think I’d stop here—if I was you.” Yes, there was a bluntness about Miss Searson which at ordinary times had a unique power of “getting there.” But Bill merely smiled at her now. The chrysanthemum-topped fathead! Suddenly he reached the limit of his endurance; he expressed a boundless contempt for her and all her tribe by recourse to a spittoon.

How could Melia ever have married him ... Melia Munt who might have married an architect!...

Bill Hollis defensively went on with his bitter. He was consumed with scorn of a person whom he had once respected immensely. She was found out, the shallow fool, fringe and back hair included! When he came to the end of the pint, he paused a moment in the midst of the pleasant sensations it had inspired and then decided that he would have another, not because he wanted another, but because he felt that it would annoy this Toplofty Crackpot.

The second pint did annoy the T.C., annoyed her obviously; emotionally she was a very obvious lady. But it was odd that Bill Hollis, shaken to the depths by a world catastrophe, should desire a cheap revenge and stoop to gratify it. Perhaps it was a case of multiple personality. There were several Bill Hollises in this moment of destiny.

There was the Bill Hollis who gave the defiant order for another pint of bitter, the Bill Hollis who paid for it with truculent coolness, the Bill Hollis who bore it to the window the better to regard the somber stream of fellow citizens flowing steadily in the direction of the Market Place, the Bill Hollis who took a beer-stained copy of the Blackhampton Tribune from a table with a marble top and glanced at the portentous headings of its many columns. And finally there was the Bill Hollis who suddenly heard with a sick thrill that came very near to nausea a footfall heavily familiar and a voice outside in the passage.

Could it be...! Could it be that...!

There was a look of obvious triumph on the almost unnaturally fair countenance of Miss Searson. In her grim eyes was “I told you so!”

The ex-barman, in the peril of the moment, glanced hastily around, but the eyes of Miss Searson assured him that he was a rat and that he was caught in a trap. Moreover they assured him that if ever rat deserved a fate so ignominious, William Hollis was the name of that rodent. And the loathsome animal had time to recall before that voice and those footsteps were able to enter the private bar that sixteen years ago Miss Searson had been the witness of a certain incident. And if her warlike bearing meant anything she was now looking for a repetition, with modern improvements and variations.

Escape was impossible, that was clear. And on the strength of a fact so obvious all the various kinds of Bill Hollises promptly came together and decided to hand over the body politic to the only Bill Hollis who could hope to deal with the crisis. This was the Bill Hollis who had had a pint and a half of his father-in-law’s excellent bitter and felt immeasurably the better for it.

As a measure of precaution this Bill Hollis spread wide the Tribune and by taking cover behind it greatly reassured his brethren. None of the others would have had the wit to think of that. Even as it was only a pint and a half of a very choice brew enabled the device to be put coolly and quietly into practice.

He had hardly taken cover when Josiah came in. Following close behind were Julius Weiss and Councilor Kersley. It was a tense moment, but these grandees were occupied with a matter more important than the identity of the man behind the newspaper in the corner by the window.

“Miss Searson!” The tone of the proprietor was like unto that of Jove. “Ring up Strathfieldsaye and tell them I am going to eat at the Club.”

Bill Hollis was sensible of a thrill. He was a mere cat in the presence of a king, except that this was a king whom he dare not look at. It was a disgusting feeling yet somehow it was exalting. And this sense of uplift grew when Josiah and his friends disposed themselves augustly at one of the tables with a marble top, and three tankards of an exclusive brew were brought to them and they began to talk.

It was “inner circle talk” and in the ear of William Hollis that lent it piquancy. Really it was what he was there for. The newspapers were unsatisfying. He craved to hear the matter discussed by men of substance, standing, general information, by men of the world. Sitting there behind his paper in the private bar, he felt nearer to the heart of things than he had ever been in his life.

“Is it going to make so much difference?” Councilor Kersley, the eminent retail grocer, asked the question.

“It’s going to alter everything, Kersley—you mark me.” The tone of Josiah was as final as an act of parliament and Julius Weiss slowly nodded in deep concurrence with it.

“Of course we shall down ’em,” said Councilor Kersley.

“Yes, we shall down ’em, but——” Josiah’s “but” left a good deal to the imagination.

“Don’t be too sure, my friends,” said the master-hair-dresser.

“Our Navy’ll settle it at the finish,” Josiah’s growl was that of a very big dog.

Julius Weiss shook his head solemnly but he didn’t speak again. An odd, uneasy silence settled on the three of them while they drank their beer. But of a sudden there came a wholly unexpected obtrusion into the conversation.

The man by the window lowered his paper. “We’re not going to have a walk over, so don’t let us think we are.” For a reason he could not have explained had his life depended on it, William Hollis revealed his presence and plunged horse, foot and artillery into the matter in hand.

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