exaggerated reverence for the printed page. He was inclined to set
Mallinson on a pinnacle, and scourge himself at the foot of it for his
earlier distrust of him. He opened the book again at the beginning, and
let the pages slip across beneath his thumb from cover to cover; 413 was
marked on the top corner of the last; 413 pages actually written and
printed and published; all consecutive too; something new on each page.
He turned to a porter.

'How long have I before the train starts?'

'Five minutes, sir.'

'Where is the telegraph office?'

The office was pointed out to him, and he telegraphed to Mallinson at the
address of his publishers. 'Have just reached England. Dine with me at
eight to-morrow at the Grand Hotel'; and he added after a moment's pause,
'Bring Conway, if you have not lost sight of him.--DRAKE.'

When the train started Drake settled himself to the study of _A Man of
Influence_. The commentary of the salesman had prepared him for some
measure of perplexity. There would be hinted references and suggestions,
difficult of comprehension to the traveller out of touch with modern
developments. These, however, would only be the ornaments, but the flesh
and blood of the story would be perceptible enough. It was just, however,
this very flesh and blood which eluded him; he could not fix it in a
definite form. He did not hold the key to the author's intention.

Drake's _vis-à-vis_ in the carriage saw him produce the book with
considerable surprise, conscious of an incongruity between the reader and