'True,' said Mr Blatherwick.
Another pause.
'Er--Datchett,' said Mr Blatherwick.
'Yes,' said James.
'I--er--feel that perhaps--'
James waited attentively.
'Have you sugar?'
'Plenty, thanks,' said James.
'I shall be sorry if it rains,' said Mr Blatherwick.
Conversation languished.
James laid his cup down.
'I have some writing to do,' he said. 'I think I'll be going upstairs
now.'
'Er--just so,' said Mr Blatherwick, with relief. 'Just so. An excellent
idea.'
* * * * *
'Er--Datchett,' said Mr Blatherwick next day, after breakfast.
'Yes?' said James.
A feeling of content was over him this morning. The sun had broken
through the clouds. One of the long envelopes which he had received on
the previous night had turned out, on examination, to contain a letter
from the editor accepting the story if he would reconstruct certain
passages indicated in the margin.
'I have--ah--unfortunately been compelled to dismiss Adolf,' said Mr
Blatherwick.
'Yes?' said James. He had missed Adolf's shining morning face.
'Yes. After you had left me last night he came to my study with a
malicious--er--fabrication respecting yourself which I need
not--ah--particularize.'
James looked pained. Awful thing it is, this nourishing vipers in one's
bosom.
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