He replaced the receiver. He remained for a moment in the deepest thought. Then, swiftly reaching a decision, he went to the desk and took out a cable form. The wording of the cable gave him some little trouble. The first version was so condensed that he could not understand it himself. He destroyed the form and decided that this was no time for that economy which is instinctive even to the richest men when writing cables. Taking another form and recklessly dashing the expense, he informed Mr. Pynsent that, in spite of the writer’s almost fatherly care, his nephew Samuel had most unfortunately sneaked off surreptitiously and become entangled with a young woman residing in the suburbs. He desired Mr. Pynsent to instruct him in this matter. The composition satisfied him. It was a good piece of work. He rang for an underling and sent him with it to the cable office. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO STORMY TIMES AT MON REPOS § 1 There are few pleasanter things in life than to sit under one’s own rooftree and smoke the first pipe of the morning which so sets the seal on the charms of breakfast. Sam, as he watched Hash clearing away the remains of as goodly a dish of bacon and eggs and as fragrant a pot of coffee as ever man had consumed, felt an uplifted thrill of well-being. It was Saturday morning, and a darned good Saturday morning at that--mild enough to permit of an open window, yet crisp enough to justify a glowing fire. “Hash,” said Sam, “have you ever felt an almost overwhelming desire to break into song?” “No,” said Hash, after consideration. “You have never found yourself irresistibly compelled to render some old Provençal _chansonnette_ breathing of love and youth and romance?” “No, I ain’t.” “Perhaps it’s as well. You wouldn’t be good at it, and one must consider the neighbours. But I may tell you that I am feeling the urge to-day. What’s that thing of Browning’s that you’re always quoting? Ah, yes! ‘The morning’s at seven; The hillside’s dew-pearled. God’s in his heaven; All’s right with the world.’ That is how I feel.” “How’d you like this bacon?” inquired Hash, picking up a derelict slice and holding it against the light as if it were some rare _objet d’art_. Sam perceived that his audience was not attuned to the lyrical note. “I am too spiritual to be much of a judge of these things,” he said, “but as far as I could gather it seemed all right.” “Ha’penny a pound cheaper than the last,” said Hash with sober triumph. “Indeed? Well, as I was saying, life seems decidedly tolerable to-day. I am taking Miss Derrick to the theatre this afternoon, so I shall not be back until lateish. Before I go, therefore, I have something to say to you, Hash. I noticed a disposition on your part yesterday to try to disintegrate our odd-job man. This must not be allowed to grow upon you. When I return this evening I shall expect to find him all in one piece.”