In the pantry that evening the question of telling someone was discussed further. It was discussed over a number of glasses of Mr. Mergleson’s beer. For, following a sound tradition, Mr. Mergleson brewed at Shonts, and sometimes he brewed well and sometimes he brewed ill, and sometimes he brewed weak and sometimes he brewed strong, and there was no monotony in the cups at Shonts. This was sturdy stuff and suited Mr. Darling’s mood, and ever and again with an author’s natural weakness and an affectation of abstraction Mr. Mergleson took the jug out empty and brought it back foaming. Henry, the second footman, was disposed to a forced hopefulness so as not to spoil the evening, but Thomas was sympathetic and distressed. The red-haired youth made cigarettes with a little machine, licked them and offered them to the others, saying little, as became him. Etiquette deprived him of an uninvited beer, and Mr. Mergleson’s inattention completed what etiquette began. “I can’t bear to think of the poor little beggar, stuck head foremost into some cobwebby cranny, blowed if I can,” said Thomas, getting help from the jug. “He was an interesting kid,” said Thomas in a tone that was frankly obituary. “He didn’t like his work, one could see that, but he was lively—and I tried to help him along all I could, when I wasn’t too busy myself.” “There was something sensitive about him,” said Thomas. Mr. Mergleson sat with his arms loosely thrown out over the table. “What we got to do is to tell someone,” he said, “I don’t see ’ow I can put off telling ’er ladyship—after to-morrow morning. And then—’eaven ’elp us!” “’Course _I_ got to tell _my_ missis,” said Mr. Darling, and poured in a preoccupied way, some running over. “We’ll go through them passages again now before we go to bed,” said Mr. Mergleson, “far as we can. But there’s ’oles and chinks on’y a boy could get through.” “_I_ got to tell the missis,” said Mr. Darling. “That’s what’s worrying me....” As the evening wore on there was a tendency on the part of Mr. Darling to make this the refrain of his discourse. He sought advice. “’Ow’d you tell the missis?” he asked Mr. Mergleson, and emptied a glass to control his impatience before Mr. Mergleson replied. “I shall tell ’er ladyship, just simply, the fact. I shall say, your ladyship, here’s my boy gone and we don’t know where. And as she arsts me questions so shall I give particulars.” Mr. Darling reflected and then shook his head slowly. “’Ow’d _ju_ tell the missis?” he asked Thomas. “Glad I haven’t got to,” said Thomas. “_Poor_ little beggar.” “Yes, but ’ow _would_ you tell ’er?” Mr. Darling said, varying the accent very carefully. “I’d go to ’er and I’d pat her back and I’d say, ‘bear up,’ see, and when she asked what for, I’d just tell her what for—gradual like.” “You don’t know the missis,” said Mr. Darling. “Henry, ’ow’d _ju_ tell ’er?” “Let ’er find out,” said Henry. “Wimmin do.”