"It's wonderful," he said, "how the country maintains its financial stability. Five millions a day, you know. It's a pretty big sum, and yet nobody seems to feel it. Here we are, for instance, you and I, travelling first-class."
"My next season-ticket is going to be third-class," I said. "All business has been hit very hard, and we've simply got to economise."
"I daresay, I daresay," he said. "It may be so with some businesses. All I know is my business hasn't gone off."
"Shipowner?" I said.
He gasped and shook his head emphatically. "Oh dear, no," he said. "Nothing of that kind—wish I was. But you won't guess what I do, not if I were to let you have a thousand guesses." His humility had vanished and he looked almost triumphant.
"I give it up at once," I said. "What are you?"
"I," he said, "am the National Scape-Goat Association."
"The what?" I said.
He repeated his words. "I see you don't understand," he went on, "so perhaps I'd better explain."
"Yes," I said, "much better."