Mall, but he followed the side of the lake, crossed the Horse-guards
Parade, and reached the office for which he was bound at ten minutes
past eleven. He had applied for a secretaryship, a post in which "a
thorough knowledge of French" was essential, and he was received by a
pompous, flabby little man, with side whiskers, for whom he conceived a
violent dislike the moment he set eyes on him. Apparently, the feeling
was mutual. Dick Royson was far too distinguished looking to suit the
requirements of the podgy member for a county constituency, a
legislator who hoped to score in Parliament by getting the Yellow Books
of the French Chamber translated for his benefit.

"You are late, Mr. Royson," began the important one.

"Yes," said Dick.

"Punctuality--"

"Exactly, but I was mixed up in a slight mishap to a carriage."

"As I was about to remark," said the M.P., in his most impressive
manner, "punctuality in business is a _sine qua non_. I have already
appointed another secretary."

"Poor devil!" said Dick.

"How dare you, sir, speak to me in that manner?"

"I was thinking of him. I don't know him, but, having seen you, I am
sorry for him."