"You're quite right," said the Prime Minister seriously, "only I wanted to get the date more or less right. One must have time, and there's going to be a list on Empire Day--anyhow it's after Easter"--then he went on writing. "What's the name?" he said in the middle of his writing. "The name," said Mr. Bailey, "was to be Percy, I think--yes, Percy." "_Mr. Percy Clutterbuck_," the Prime Minister went on writing, "_will accept your assurance and will use every discretion in the matter_." He wrote a few more lines and signed. "There," he said, handing it over. "You're a very good fellow," said William Bailey, taking the note and putting it carefully into a monstrous old-fashioned wallet. "I'll send it back to you within a week--not necessarily for publication, but as a guarantee of good faith." As he said this the Premier's secretary came in with the unpleasing news that the deputation had come to time. William Bailey hurriedly went out by the little private side door which he knew so well. * * * * * It was not until Mr. Bailey had successfully persuaded Mrs. Clutterbuck herself of the interest taken in the Highest Quarters in the Royal Caterham Valley Institute that he dared show that little note to her husband; but she--indomitable soul!--willingly accepted the opportunity at which he hinted. The bazaar was held, subscriptions gathered, Patronage of the most conspicuous sort received, the first stone of the Institute was laid with many allusions to the approaching festival of Anglo-American goodwill. William Bailey had long returned that dangerous little letter, and on that day which is now the chief festival of our race, when so many and such varied qualities receive their high rewards, the storm-tossed spirit of Sir Percy Clutterbuck was at rest. Printed by Ballantyne & Co. Limited Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, London