It could hardly be said, however, that the proceedings were formal. Mr. Hilary Pierce had the appearance of forcibly dragging Mr. Enoch Oates in the direction of the large padded arm-chair, that had always stood empty at the top of the club table, uttering cries which, though incoherent, appeared to be partly apologetic. “No offence,” he gasped. “Hope no misunderstanding ... _Honoris causa_ ... you, you alone are worthy of that seat ... the club has found its king and justified its title at last.” Here the Colonel intervened and restored order. Mr. Oates departed in peace; but Mr. Hilary Pierce was still simmering. “And that is the end of our quiet, ordinary business man,” he cried. “Such is the behaviour of our monochrome and unobtrusive background.” His voice rose to a sort of wail. “And we thought we were dotty! We deluded ourselves with the hope that we were pretty well off our chump! Lord have mercy on us! American big business rises to a raving idiocy compared with which we are as sane as the beasts of the field. The modern commercial world is far madder than anything we can do to satirize it.” “Well,” said the Colonel good-humouredly, “we’ve done some rather ridiculous things ourselves.” “Yes, yes,” cried Pierce excitedly, “but we did them to make ourselves ridiculous. That unspeakable man is wholly, serenely serious. He thinks those maniacal monkey tricks are the normal life of man. Your argument really answers itself. We did the maddest things we could think of, meaning them to look mad. But they were nothing like so mad as what a modern business man does in the way of business.” “Perhaps it’s the American business man,” said White, “who’s too keen to see the humour of it.” “Nonsense,” said Crane. “Millions of Americans have a splendid sense of humour.” “Then how fortunate are we,” said Pierce reverently, “through whose lives this rare, this ineffable, this divine being has passed.” “Passed away for ever, I suppose,” said Hood with a sigh. “I fear the Colonel must be our only background once more.” Colonel Crane was frowning thoughtfully, and at the last words his frown deepened to disapproval. He puffed at his smouldering cigar and then, removing it, said abruptly: “I suppose you fellows have forgotten how I came to be a background? I mean, why I rather approve of people being backgrounds.” “I remember something you said a long time ago,” replied Hood. “Hilary must have been in long-clothes at that time.” “I said I had found out something by going round the world,” said Crane. “You young people think I am an old Tory; but remember I am also an old traveller. Well, it’s part of the same thing. I’m a traditionalist because I’m a traveller. I told you when I came back to the club that I’d come back to the tribe. I told you that in all the tribes of the world, the best man was the man true to his tribe. I told you the best man was the man who wore a nose-ring where nose-rings were worn.” “I remember,” said Owen Hood.