"Yes," said Dick.
"Punctuality—"
"Exactly, but I was mixed up in a slight mishap to a carriage."
"As I was about to remark," said the M.P., in his most impressive manner, "punctuality in business is a sine quâ non. I have already appointed another secretary."
"Poor devil!" said Dick.
"How dare you, sir, speak to me in that manner?"
"I was thinking of him. I don't know him, but, having seen you, I am sorry for him."
"You impudent rascal—"
But Royson had fled. Out in the street, he looked up at the sky. "Is there a new moon?" he asked himself, gravely. "Am I cracked? Why did I pitch into that chap? If I'm not careful, I shall get myself into trouble to-day. I wonder if Jack Seymour will lend me enough to take me to South Africa? They say that war is brewing there. That is what I want—gore, bomb-shells, more gore. If I stay in London—"
Then he encountered a procession coming up Northumberland Avenue. Police, mounted and on foot, headed it. Behind marched the unemployed, thousands of them.