“The capitalists must always hate the man who tries to make wealth pay its just share in the support of the Empire,” Mr. Gordon Jones remarked. “The more one has, the less one likes to part with it. However, those days have passed. You bankers have made my task easier at every turn. You have met me in every possible way. To you personally, Sir Alfred, I feel that some day I shall have to express my thanks--my thanks and the thanks of the nation--in a more tangible form.” “You are very kind,” the banker acknowledged. “Times like this change everything. We remember only that we are Englishmen.” The Minister hailed a passing taxi and disappeared. The banker strolled slowly along Pall Mall and passed through the portals of an august-looking club. The hall-porter relieved him of his coat and hat with great deference. As he was crossing the hall, after having exchanged greetings with several friends, he came face to face with Surgeon-Major Thomson. The latter paused. “I am afraid you don’t remember me, Sir Alfred,” he said, “but I have been hoping for an opportunity of thanking you personally for the six ambulance cars you have endowed. I am Surgeon-Major Thomson, chief inspector of Field Hospitals.” Sir Alfred held out his hand affably. “I remember you perfectly, Major,” he declared. “I am very glad that my gift is acceptable. Anything one can do to lessen the suffering of those who are fighting our battle, is almost a charge upon our means.” “It is very fortunate for us that you feel like that,” the other replied. “Thank you once more, sir.” The two men separated. Sir Alfred turned to the hall-porter. “I am expecting my nephew in to dine,” he said,--“Captain Granet. Bring him into the smoking-room, will you, directly he arrives.” “Certainly, sir!” Sir Alfred passed on across the marble hall. Thomson, whose hand had been upon his hat, replaced it upon the peg. He looked after the great banker and stood for a moment deep in thought. Then he addressed the hall-porter. “By-the-bye, Charles,” he inquired, “if you ask a non-member to dinner, you have to dine in the strangers’ room, I suppose?” “Certainly, sir,” the man replied. “It is just at the back of the general dining-room.” “I suppose an ordinary member couldn’t dine in there alone?” “It is not customary, sir.” Surgeon-Major Thomson made his way to the telephone booth. When he emerged, he interviewed the head-waiter. “Keep a small table for me in the strangers’ room,” he ordered. “I shall require dinner for two.” “At what time, sir?” Major Thomson seemed for a moment deaf. He was looking through the open door of the smoking-room to where Sir Alfred was deep in the pages of a review. “Are there many people dining there to-night?” he asked. “Sir Alfred has a guest at eight o’clock, sir,” the man replied. “There are several others, I think, but they have not ordered tables specially.”