“Knocked off! Why on earth? Are you going to start a Band of Hope? I’m sorry, Marryatt, but I’m afraid you won’t get many members to join.”
“No. It’s nothing of that sort. Doctor’s orders, you know.”
“First time I ever heard of Beazly prescribing that.”
“It wasn’t Beazly. I’ve just been up to London, you know; I went to see a specialist.”
“I say, I’m awfully sorry; what’s wrong? Heart?”
“Well, it was a sort of nerve man I went to. Didn’t seem to be much use. He talked to me for about half an hour about French cathedrals, and then told me to knock off drinking and smoking.”
“Yes, but dash it all, what were your symptoms?”
“I say, Gordon, do you believe in—well, in ghosts and things?”
“Not more than’s good for me. Why? You been seeing spooks?”
“Look here, I wanted to tell somebody about it. You know, of course, that I preached about Brotherhood last night. I wasn’t quite sure whether it was the thing to do—it seemed a bit unfair at the time. Anyhow, I felt I ought to. Then at dinner, if you remember, you and Carmichael were ragging about it—wondering what would happen if old Brotherhood came back.”