’Just the same thing happened once to a friend of mine and a friend of his.  But it was on board ship, and both were devilish seasick.  Walker—­you remember my friend Walker?—­tells the story in a side-splitting way.  I wonder what has become of Walker?  The last time I met him he was travelling agent for a menagerie—­a most interesting fellow, Walker.—­But I beg your pardon.  Go on, old fellow!’

’Well, after that we at once saw a good deal of each other.  He has been working for years at a chemical factory down on the river; Moxey used to be there, and got him the place.’

’Moxey?—­Oh yes, the man you dined with.  You must remember that these are new names to me.  I must know all these new people, I say.  You don’t mind?’

’You shall be presented to the whole multitude, as soon as you like.  Peak wants to see you.  He thinks of an excursion like this last of yours.’

’He does?  By Jove, we’ll go together!  I have always wanted a travelling companion.  We’ll start as soon as ever he likes!—­well, in a month or two.  I must just have time to look round.  Oh, I haven’t done with the tropics yet!  I must tell him of a rattling good insect-powder I have invented; I think of patenting it.  I say, how does one get a patent?  Quite a simple matter, I suppose?’

’Oh, always has been.  The simplest and least worrying of all business enterprises.’

‘What?  Eh?  That smile of yours means mischief.’

In a quarter of an hour they had got back to the subject of Peak’s history.

‘And did he really run away because of the eating-house?’ Malkin inquired.

’I shall never venture to ask, and it’s not very likely he will admit it.  It was some time before he cared to talk much of Whitelaw.’

’But what is he doing?  You used to think he would come out strong, didn’t you?  Has he written anything?’

‘A few things in The Liberator, five or six years ago.’

‘What, the atheistic paper?’

’Yes.  But he’s ashamed of it now.  That belongs to a bygone stage of development.’

‘Turned orthodox?’

Earwaker laughed.

’I only mean that he is ashamed of the connection with street-corner rationalism.’

’Quite right.  Devilish low, that kind of thing.  But I went in for it myself once.  Did I ever tell you that I debated with a parson on Mile-end Waste?  Fact!  That was in my hot-headed days.  A crowd of coster-mongers applauded me in the most flattering way.—­I say, Earwaker, you haven’t any whisky?’

’Forgive me; your conversation makes me forget hospitality.  Shall I make hot water?  I have a spirit-kettle.’

’Cold for me.  I get in such a deuced perspiration when I begin to talk.—­Try this tobacco; the last of half a hundred-weight I took in at Bahia.’

The traveller refreshed himself with a full tumbler, and resumed the conversation cheerily.