‘Look after Saul, then,’ was the reply.

‘What are you two whispering about?’ said Hummil suspiciously.

‘Only saying that you are a damned poor host.  This fowl can’t be cut,’ returned Spurstow with a sweet smile.  ‘Call this a dinner?’

‘I can’t help it.  You don’t expect a banquet, do you?’

Throughout that meal Hummil contrived laboriously to insult directly and pointedly all his guests in succession, and at each insult Spurstow kicked the aggrieved persons under the table; but he dared not exchange a glance of intelligence with either of them.  Hummil’s face was white and pinched, while his eyes were unnaturally large.  No man dreamed for a moment of resenting his savage personalities, but as soon as the meal was over they made haste to get away.  ’Don’t go.  You’re just getting amusing, you fellows.  I hope I haven’t said anything that annoyed you.  You’re such touchy devils.’  Then, changing the note into one of almost abject entreaty, Hummil added, ‘I say, you surely aren’t going?’

‘In the language of the blessed Jorrocks, where I dines I sleeps,’ said Spurstow.  ’I want to have a look at your coolies to-morrow, if you don’t mind.  You can give me a place to lie down in, I suppose?’

The others pleaded the urgency of their several duties next day, and, saddling up, departed together, Hummil begging them to come next Sunday.  As they jogged off, Lowndes unbosomed himself to Mottram—­

’...  And I never felt so like kicking a man at his own table in my life.  He said I cheated at whist, and reminded me I was in debt!  ’Told you you were as good as a liar to your face!  You aren’t half indignant enough over it.’

‘Not I,’ said Mottram.  ’Poor devil!  Did you ever know old Hummy behave like that before or within a hundred miles of it?’

’That’s no excuse.  Spurstow was hacking my shin all the time, so I kept a hand on myself.  Else I should have—­’

’No, you wouldn’t.  You’d have done as Hummy did about Jevins; judge no man this weather.  By Jove! the buckle of my bridle is hot in my hand!  Trot out a bit, and ‘ware rat-holes.’

Ten minutes’ trotting jerked out of Lowndes one very sage remark when he pulled up, sweating from every pore—­

‘’Good thing Spurstow’s with him to-night.’

’Ye-es.  Good man, Spurstow.  Our roads turn here.  See you again next Sunday, if the sun doesn’t bowl me over.’

‘S’pose so, unless old Timbersides’ finance minister manages to dress some of my food.  Good-night, and—­God bless you!’

‘What’s wrong now?’

‘Oh, nothing.’  Lowndes gathered up his whip, and, as he flicked Mottram’s mare on the flank, added, ’You’re not a bad little chap,—­ that’s all.’  And the mare bolted half a mile across the sand, on the word.