them, so the bartender wouldn't take any risks. They'll be refusing you a drink next thing I'm thinking, Mr. Vale." His twinkle was altogether malicious now.
Suppressing a desire to kick him more thoroughly than he had done before, Vale paid for his ale and went out to find Fawnie. She was standing, a motionless little figure, just outside the dining room door.
The waitress, a plump young girl with an excellently white neck, led them to a table, and leaned over Derek to take the order. Fawnie solemnly unfolded her bluish white damp table napkin, folded in the shape of a bishop's mitre. Derek ordered soup, roast pork and apple-sauce. "Remember," he whispered, when the girl had gone, "to keep that knife away from your mouth, and just break small bits off your bread."
Fawnie nodded obediently. She behaved like a good child. They had but well begun when a robust voice greeted Derek, and looking up, he beheld Mr. Ramsey.
"Well met," he said cheerily. "This is an unexpected treat. May I sit down and have my dinner with you? You know I take most of my meals here, and I find it very pleasant."
He shook hands with them and sat down. "Yes, Katy, some roast pork. And a bit of the nice juicy rind. And don't be sparing with the apple-sauce. I find I cannot flourish without plenty of apple-sauce."
While the Vicar ate with gusto he talked buoyantly of things in general. He was glad they had won the election. The fruit market was safe, thank goodness. . . . His pullets were beginning to lay. But he had lost a fine cockerel last week from limberneck. Strange disease. Head flopping all over the place. . . . Did Derek see much of the Jerrolds? Mr. Jerrold had certainly been hard hit by the sale. But he was plucky. They had happy
