As he said the word “butter” his voice sank to a hardly audible whisper; then there was a sigh as though of relief when the sentence was concluded, and the universe this time was safe.

Another ten minutes of solemn silence finished the game.  The Doctor rose briskly from his seat and placed himself at the supper table.  “Mrs Skinner,” he exclaimed jauntily, “what are those mysterious-looking objects surrounded by potatoes?”

“Those are oysters, Dr Skinner.”

“Give me some, and give Overton some.”

And so on till he had eaten a good plate of oysters, a scallop shell of minced veal nicely browned, some apple tart, and a hunk of bread and cheese.  This was the small piece of bread and butter.

The cloth was now removed and tumblers with teaspoons in them, a lemon or two and a jug of boiling water were placed upon the table.  Then the great man unbent.  His face beamed.

“And what shall it be to drink?” he exclaimed persuasively.  “Shall it be brandy and water?  No.  It shall be gin and water.  Gin is the more wholesome liquor.”

So gin it was, hot and stiff too.

Who can wonder at him or do anything but pity him?  Was he not head-master of Roughborough School?  To whom had he owed money at any time?  Whose ox had he taken, whose ass had he taken, or whom had he defrauded?  What whisper had ever been breathed against his moral character?  If he had become rich it was by the most honourable of all means—­his literary attainments; over and above his great works of scholarship, his “Meditations upon the Epistle and Character of St Jude” had placed him among the most popular of English theologians; it was so exhaustive that no one who bought it need ever meditate upon the subject again—­indeed it exhausted all who had anything to do with it.  He had made 5000 pounds by this work alone, and would very likely make another 5000 pounds before he died.  A man who had done all this and wanted a piece of bread and butter had a right to announce the fact with some pomp and circumstance.  Nor should his words be taken without searching for what he used to call a “deeper and more hidden meaning.”  Those who searched for this even in his lightest utterances would not be without their reward.  They would find that “bread and butter” was Skinnerese for oyster-patties and apple tart, and “gin hot” the true translation of water.

But independently of their money value, his works had made him a lasting name in literature.  So probably Gallio was under the impression that his fame would rest upon the treatises on natural history which we gather from Seneca that he compiled, and which for aught we know may have contained a complete theory of evolution; but the treatises are all gone and Gallio has become immortal for the very last reason in the world that he expected, and for the very last reason that would have flattered his vanity.  He has become immortal because he cared nothing about the most important movement with which he was ever brought into connection (I wish people who are in search of immortality would lay the lesson to heart and not make so much noise about important movements), and so, if Dr Skinner becomes immortal, it will probably be for some reason very different from the one which he so fondly imagined.