"Got anything else?"
"A couple of sporting prints coming in the trunk, sir."
"You want to get everything you can lay your hands on when you go home. Now run on down and report to Fuzzy-Wuzzy—Mr. Jenkins. He'll be waiting for you. After lunch I'll take you up to the village and fit you out."
"I say, that's awfully good of you."
"Oh, that's all right."
"Say, I didn't mean to be fresh."
"Well, you were."
White, having carefully noted the ravages of the razor, turned from the looking-glass and surveyed the penitent Stover.
"Well, what did they fire you for?" he said point-blank.
"They fired me——" began Stover slowly, and stopped.