“_He_ saw what I was driving at,” Maddingham replied, “and he was the only one that mattered for the moment. ‘Then I’m a dead man, Mr. Maddingham,’ he said. ‘That’s _your_ business,’ I said. ‘Good afternoon.’ And I went out.” “And?” said Winchmore, after some silence. “He died. I saw his flag half-masted next morning.” There was another silence. Henri looked in at the alcove and smiled. Maddingham beckoned to him. “But why didn’t you lend him a hand to settle his private affairs?” said Portson. “Because I wasn’t acting in my private capacity. I’d been on the bridge for three nights and--” Maddingham pulled out his watch--“this time to-morrow I shall be there again--confound it! Has my car come, Henri?” “Yes, Sare Francis. I am sorry.” They all complimented Henri on the dinner, and when the compliments were paid he expressed himself still their debtor. So did the nephew. “Are you coming with me, Portson?” said Maddingham as he rose heavily. “No. I’m for Southampton, worse luck! My car ought to be here, too.” “I’m for Euston and the frigid calculating North,” said Winchmore with a shudder. “One common taxi, please, Henri.” Tegg smiled. “I’m supposed to sleep in just now, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to come with you as far as Gravesend, Maddingham.” “Delighted. There’s a glass all round left still,” said Maddingham. “Here’s luck! The usual, I suppose? ‘Damnation to all neutrals!’” THE VINEYARD At the eleventh hour he came, But his wages were the same As ours who all day long had trod The wine-press of the Wrath of God. When he shouldered through the lines Of our cropped and mangled vines, His unjaded eye could scan How each hour had marked its man. (Children of the morning-tide With the hosts of noon had died; And our noon contingents lay Dead with twilight’s spent array.) Since his back had felt no load, Virtue still in him abode; So he swiftly made his own Those last spoils we had not won. We went home, delivered thence, Grudging him no recompense Till he portioned praise or blame To our works before he came. _Till he showed us for our good-- Deaf to mirth, and blind to scorn-- How we might have best withstood Burdens that he had not borne!_ “IN THE INTERESTS OF THE BRETHREN” “BANQUET NIGHT” “Once in so often,” King Solomon said, Watching his quarrymen drill the stone, “We will club our garlic and wine and bread And banquet together beneath my Throne. And all the Brethren shall come to that mess As Fellow-Craftsmen--no more and no less. “Send a swift shallop to Hiram of Tyre, Felling and floating our beautiful trees, Say that the Brethren and I desire Talk with our Brethren who use the seas. And we shall be happy to meet them at mess As Fellow-Craftsmen--no more and no less.