"Don't you believe it for one instant. The King of Okky's a seasoned vessel with a copper tummy, and you could no more thaw the wickedness out of him with soda-water than you could bring the devil to a reformed temperature in an ice machine. You must recognize, Mr. Carter, that both the King of Okky and the devil have their little ways, and it's above your art to change either of them very much. Question is, how much allegiance do you think you owe to O'Neill and Craven?" This was a change of front with a vengeance. But Carter took it coolly enough. "That's an interesting point, sir. I hadn't reckoned it up before. But I shouldn't like to give you an answer to so important a question about the firm on the spur of the moment. So by your leave, I'll sleep over it, and tell you in the morning." "Sorry, but can't allow you the time, and as you don't seem to grasp the fact, I must point out that the fate of this factory of O'Neill and Craven's at Malla-Nulla depends on the august will of the King of Okky. His Portliness also threatens to stop the roads which feed our other factories at Monktown and Smooth River, though I don't think when it comes to the point he'll do that. However, Burgoyne and Slade must see to those themselves. After the way this new K. O'Neill's been treating me on paper, I'm not going to concern myself with the general welfare of all the firm's factories on this coast. But I am in charge of Malla-Nulla, and I'm going to preserve the trade here from extinction if it can be managed." Carter lifted the mosquito bar and got out of bed. "I'm afraid, sir, I must ask you to come down to my level, and speak rather more plainly." Swizzle-Stick Smith sat back resignedly in his chair, and dropped his eyeglass to the end of its black watered silk ribbon. "_Dulce et decorum est pro factoria mori_, though I don't suppose it will come to dying if you play your cards right." Mr. Smith closed his eyes and evidently imagined that he was uttering his next thought silently. "Keep the young beggar out of the way of Slade's girl, too. By Gad, I'd no idea Laura would grow up such a pretty child. If he'd been an ordinary clerk I wouldn't have minded, but the lad's a gentleman by birth, and now he's done the gallant rescue business as a start, he's just the sort of quixotic young ass to think he ought to go and marry the girl as a proper capping for the romance. And that of course would be the end of him socially." "I say," Carter called out loudly, "Mr. Smith, do you know it's four o'clock in the morning, and there are some dangerous chills about just now? Don't you think you had better have a cigarette paper full of quinine by way of a night cap, and then go to bed? It will be turning-out time in another hour or so."