Wise Masters! More than one at Ranleigh had found their way to his notice, if not to his friendship, by offering food. And here he was using the same method of persuasion. However, the "old firm," as Clive, Bert and Hugh, Masters and Susanne had designated themselves, were engaged in discussion round the workshop stove, and we must not forget them.
"As to Masters," declared Susanne, having been interrupted by that young fellow, "as to our friend Masters, he'd probably be found asleep, or at the tuck, or washing himself in ink."
The sally brought a howl from the others. Masters was not likely soon to be allowed to forget that incident. The mere mention of it roused him to a fury. He shot up as if he had been kicked and leaned across to strike at Susanne. But Clive cocked a leg on to the top of the stove and thereby intercepted him.
"Look here," he began, "do let's talk sense."
"Then you shut up altogether. That's the only way to make it possible," retorted the angered Masters, sitting down with a bang.
"And decide what we're going to do and how it's to be done," went on Clive, without notice of the interruption.
"We've decided to go, then?" demanded Bert.
"Rather!" cried Hugh.
"I wouldn't miss the show for worlds," declared Clive.
"There'll be heaps of Frenchmen there," suggested Susanne, with a cool shake of his head. "I'm nearly sure to know some of them. That'd mean a feed, eh?"