Renny, to having a bottle of something really decent to celebrate the prowess of our nags?"
"Good head!" agreed Renny, spreading a layer of mustard over his cold beef.
Piers in the meantime had helped himself to more of the soufflé, and then pushed the dish to Finch, who, gripping it in one bony hand, began savagely to scrape it clean with a massive silver spoon.
Wakefield regarded this performance with the patronizing wonder of one who had shared the dish in its first hot puffiness. "There's a little stuck on there, just by the handle," he said, helpfully pointing to the morsel.
Finch desisted from his scraping long enough to hit him a smart blow on the knuckles with the spoon.
Wake loudly cried, "Ouch!" and was ordered from the table by Lady Buckley.
Renny shot a look of annoyance down the table. "Please don't send the kid away, Aunt. He couldn't help squeaking when he was hit. If anyone is sent away it will be Finch."
"Wakefield was not hurt," said Augusta, with dignity. "He screams if Finch looks in his direction."
"Then let Finch look in another direction." And Renny returned to the consumption of his beef with an air of making up for lost time, as well as putting an end to the matter.
Nicholas leaned toward him. "What do you say, Renny, to a bottle?" he rumbled.
Ernest checked him, tapping his arm with a nervous white hand. "Remember, Nick, that Renny is in the high jumping to-morrow. He needs a cool head."
Renny began to laugh uproariously. "By Judas, that's good! Aunt Augusta, do you hear that? Uncle Ernie is afraid that a glass of spirits will make my head hot, and look at the colour it is already!" He rose energetically from the table.
"Can't Rags get it?" asked Nicholas.
"Of course. And swipe a bottle for himself. . . . The key of the wine cellar, please, Aunt." He went around to Augusta and looked down on her Queen Alex-
