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The boy had had too much to drink, and unlike the group
across the table, it had made him sullen and quiet. He sat there,
staring moodily at the cloth and turning his glass around in
fingers that trembled somewhat.
Then he found himself involved in the conversation.
"London as dark as they say?" inquired Christopher Valentine. He
was a thin young man, with a small, affectedly curled mustache.
Clayton did not care for him, but Natalie found him amusing. "I
haven't been over - " he really said 'ovah'- "for ages. Eight
months or so."
"Very dark. Hard to get about."
"Most of the fellows I know over there are doing something. I'd
like to run over, but what's the use? Nobody around, street's
dark, no gayety, nothing."
"No. You'd better stay at home. They - don't particularly want
visitors, anyhow."
"Unless they go for war contracts, eh?" said Valentine pleasantly,
a way he had of taking the edge off the frequent impertinence of
his speech. "No, I'm not going over.


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