"My lad, I wouldn't be in your shoes for a thousand pounds this coming year."
Sam smiled without conviction.
"The tumbril passed rapidly down the Rue St. Honoré," Loring went on, "amid the jeers of the populace. This day's victims included the younger Dainton and the emigré O'Rane. Both preserved an attitude of stoical indifference till they came in sight of the Place de la Revolution, when Dainton broke down and wept piteously...."
"I didn't," said Sam indignantly.
Loring laughed to himself.
"Cheer up, Sambo," he said. "You're not really to be pitied. O'Rane's going to be my fag."
"Poor brute," said Draycott.
"Who? O'Rane or me?"
"O'Rane, of course."