“That for Master Willie Pangbourne,” he shouted. “No, no,” irritably, to the moustached waiter, “I didn’t call you. Go away and catch flies. I think, gentlemen,” turning to the others, “that when I tell you I’ve known young Pangbourne since he was so high, and that not long ago I had to order him out of my house—” “Did he go?” asked the quiet voice at the other end. “In point of fact he didn’t go, Mary, my dear; but I distinctly ordered him to go. I don’t mind a young man differing from me about politics, but there’s a way of doing it. What I want to say is that Pangbourne isn’t everybody. I can bring influence to bear on his directors. I’ve been accustomed to opposition all my life, and I’m not afraid of it. The only question is,”—he took a pear from the glass dish and shook it threateningly—“how to raise the money.” The guests glanced at each other and became intent upon cigars. One or two wetted fingers and adjusted an unbroken leaf, thus escaping the inquiring look sent by Mr. Amherst. “Tell you what,” he cried, “I’ll put down a trifle to make a start.” He called to the waiter and said in a loud, distinct voice, “Onker.” The other seemed puzzled, and the girl translated. The waiter brought ink, and on it being pointed out, somewhat bitterly, that this, by itself, was of little use, found pen and paper. “There you are,” said Mr. Amherst jovially. “Now pass it down this side and up the other. This is a tiled meeting, remember.” He sat back and gazed at some cupids painted high up on the walls; the models apparently engaged after they had dined at the restaurant. A nudge presently at his elbow told him the list had returned. He put on his pince-nez and inspected it. “Henry Amherst, £50,” was the first item; the only other entry was in pencil, “Mary Amherst, threepence.” “And this,” he said bitterly, “is, I suppose, what you call backing up the Chairman. Well, you’re the best judges of your own actions. I never dictate to other people.” A murmur indicated doubt. “Idea seems to be, sir,” mentioned Burnham, “that we ought to leave well alone.” A few shy “Hear hears.” “We’re very much obliged to you, Mr. Amherst, for your kind hospitality, and we’ve enjoyed meeting at your festive board—if I may be allowed to use such an expression at this time of the year—but you must understand we’ve none of us got money to throw away. We’re devoted to footer, same as you are, and we’ve planked down as much as we could afford. We’re pretty safe to cut a very fair figure this year, and—” “Burnham,” interrupted Mr. Amherst, “you’ll excuse me, but perhaps you don’t mind if I just say one syllable.” He appeared to be under the impression that his voice had not hitherto been heard. “I’ve a great respect for you. You’ve got a shop in the borough that you’ve worked up from small beginnings, and, so far as I know, you’ve always paid your way.”