"Well," he said, "what d'you think of your soldier?"
"Done him no harm anyway," replied Mr. Trupp, quite impenitent.
"I don't know," retorted the other. "He left here a gentleman: he comes back a labourer—fit to work a lift."
"None the worse for that," said Mr. Trupp. "Mr. Wyndham's been telling us we want fewer clerks and more working-men. There's no satisfying you radicals."
"Better than a jumped-up jackanapes in black leggings and a pilot coat, I will admit," answered the other. "Yes, you've got a lot to answer for, Mr. Trupp. First you send him off to the army; and directly that's finished you pack him off to the Hohenzollern Hotel."
"Might be worse places," muttered Mr. Trupp.
Mr. Pigott held up a hand in horror.
"Doctor!" he cried, "I tell you what it is. Ever since you saved that Tsar you've been a changed man."
"I don't know about that," said Mr. Trupp. "I only know that Tsars forget to pay their Doctor's bills."
"I'm glad to hear it," answered Mr. Pigott. "Very glad," with emphasis. "A lesson to you to leave the insides of Royalty to emselves in future."