“There’s plenty that calls him so in other parts of the country,” he assented.  “I belong to a Working Man’s Club and what we can’t see is what’s the bally use of a job like this?  He’s bitten off more than he can chew—­that’s what Maraton’s done.  He’s stopped the railways and the coal, and even you can tell what that means, I suppose, sir?  Pretty well every factory in the country is shutting down or has shut down.  Well, supposing the Government make terms, which they say they can’t.  The miners and railway men may get a bit more.  What about all the rest of us?  We’re more likely to get a bit less.  Then what if the Germans get over here?  There’s all sorts of rumours about this morning.  They say that three-quarters of the fleet is hung up for want of coal. . . .  My!  Look there, they’ve fired his house!  I wouldn’t be in his shoes for something!  They say he’s hiding up in Northumberland.”

The man passed on.  Maraton was the first to speak.

“Come,” he said quietly, “there is nothing here to be discouraged at.  We knew very well that for the first few months—­years, perhaps—­this thing had to be faced.  We must get rooms somewhere.  I have to meet the railway men to-night.  Young Ernshaw rode up from Derby on a motor-cycle to make the appointment.  As for you, Selingman,” Maraton went on, as they turned back towards New Oxford Street, “why do you stay here?  Your coming has been splendid.  It has been a joy to have you near.  But between ourselves,” he added, lowering his voice, “you know what mobs are.  Take my advice and get back home for a time.  We shall meet again.”

Selingman shook his head.

“I helped to light the torch,” he declared.  “I’ll see it burn for a while.  I was in Paris through the last riots—­a dirty sight it was!  You’ll pull through this.  Maybe we’re better apart for a time.  But we’ll see one another housed first,” he added.  “I want to know where you all are.”

There was no difficulty about shelter of a sort.  The private hotels, which were plentiful in the neighbourhood, were half empty, and supplied rooms readily enough, although they were curiously apathetic about the matter.  At each one of them the charges for food were enormous.  Maraton divided a bundle of notes into half and made Aaron take one portion.

“Look after Julia,” he directed, “and I think you’d better keep away from me.  A good many of them knew that you were my secretary.  Look after your sister.  Keep quiet for a time.  Wait.”

He tore a sheet of paper from his pocket-book, wrote a few lines upon it and twisted it up.

“You will find an address in New York there,” he said.  “If anything happens to me, go over and present it in person.”

Aaron took it almost mechanically.  His eyes scarcely for a second had left his master’s face.

“Let me stay here,” he begged, “if it’s only an attic.  There may be work to be done.  Let me stay, sir.  My little bit of life is of no more account to me than a snap of the fingers.  Don’t send me away.  Julia’s a woman—­they won’t hurt her.  She can go back to her old rooms.  The streets are quite orderly.  Let me stay, sir!”