Mackeller sprang to his feet, his face ablaze with enthusiasm, his right fist nervously clenching and unclenching.
“Now, do sit down, Peter,” wailed his lordship. “Do not let us display unnecessary energy. I’ve told you two or three times I don’t like it.”
Peter sat down.
“What I was trying to do when you went off prematurely was to show you the folly of underestimating a fellow creature. You come storming in here, practically accusing me of doing nothing, whereas I am doing nothing because everything is done, and you, on the rampage, have arrived from a total and grotesque failure.”
“I apologized for that already, my lord.”
“So you did, Peter. I had forgotten. A man shouldn’t be asked to pay twice for the same horse and cart, should he? Ponderby,” he continued, turning to his impassive butler, “would you be so good as to go into my business office, and bring me my telegraph duplicate book.”
Then, turning to his visitor, he added:
“I am so methodical that I keep a copy of every telegram I send. I shall ask you to look through this book with the critical eye of an engineer, and you will learn that while you were raging up from Plymouth I was ordering by telegraph to be sent to my yacht the more important materials for the contest in which we may be involved. A man must make some move to protect his own property, you know.”
“Why, my lord, that’s just what I’ve been saying all along, but you gave me to understand you were going to do nothing.”
“I cannot account for such an idea arising in your mind. I think you must have jumped at conclusions, Mackeller. Still, as long as I can convince you that I am really a practical man, everything will be all right between us.”