He had the good luck to find Sir John alone in his library at tea-time, eating hot buttered toast.
There was hope for Mr. Waddington in Sir John's attitude, lying back and nursing his little round stomach, hope in the hot, buttery gleam of his cheeks, in his wide mouth, lazy under the jutting grey moustache, and in the scrabbling of his little legs as he exerted himself to stand upright.
"Well, Waddington, glad to see you."
He was in his chair again. With another prodigious effort he leaned forward and rang for more tea and more toast.
"Did you walk?" said Sir John. His little round eyes expressed horror at the possibility.
"No, I just ran over in my car."
"Drove yourself?"
"No. Too much effort of attention. I find it interferes with my thinking."
"Interferes with everything," said Sir John. "'Spect you drove enough during the war to last you for the rest of your life."
"Ah, Government service. A very different thing. That reminds me; I've come to-day to consult you on a matter of public business."