“Darling, there’s your clubs.”

“What about my clubs?”

“Don’t they cost you a lot of money?”

“No.  Besides I lunch at my clubs—­better and cheaper than at any restaurant.  And I shouldn’t have time to come home for lunch.”

“But do you need two clubs?”

“I’ve always belonged to two clubs.  Every one does.”

“But why two?”

“A fellow must have a club up his sleeve.”

“Couldn’t you give up one?”

“Lady, it’s unthinkable.  You don’t know what you’re suggesting.  Abandon one of my clubs that my father put me up for when I was a boy!  I’d as soon join a Trade Union.  No!  My innocent but gluttonous children shall starve first.”

“I shall give up my club!”

“Ah!  But that’s different.”

“How is it different?” “You scarcely ever speak to a soul in your club.  The food’s bad in your club.  They drink liqueurs before dinner at your club.  I’ve seen ’em.  Your club’s full every night of the most formidable spinsters each eating at a table alone.  Give up your club by all means.  Set fire to it and burn it down.  But don’t count the act as a renunciation.  You hate your club.  Good morning, my dove.”

IV

One advantage of the situation of Mr. Prohack’s house was that his path therefrom to the Treasury lay almost entirely through verdant parks—­Hyde Park, the Green Park, St. James’s Park.  Not infrequently he referred to the advantage in terms of bland satisfaction.  True, in wet weather the advantage became a disadvantage.

During his walk through verdant parks that morning, the Terror of the Departments who habitually thought in millions was very gloomy.  Something resembling death was in his heart.  Humiliation also was certainly in his heart, for he felt that, no matter whose the fault, he was failing in the first duty of a man.  He raged against the Chancellor of the Exchequer.  He sliced off the head of the Chancellor of the Exchequer with his stick. (But it was only an innocent autumn wildflower, perilously blooming.) And the tang in the air foretold the approach of winter and the grip of winter—­the hell of the poor.

Near Whitehall he saw the advertisement of a firm of shop-specialists: 

“BRING YOUR BUSINESS TROUBLES TO US.”

CHAPTER II

FROM THE DEAD

I

“WELL, Milton, had a good holiday?” said Mr. Prohack to the hall-porter on entering his chief club for lunch that day.

“No, sir,” said the hall-porter, who was a realist.

“Ah, well,” said Mr. Prohack soothingly.  “Perhaps not a bad thing.  There’s nothing like an unsatisfactory holiday for reconciling us all to a life of toil, is there?”

“No, sir,” said Milton, impassively, and added:  “Mr. Bishop has just called to see you, sir.  I told him you’d probably be in shortly.  He said he wouldn’t wait but he might look in again.”