long ago settled down to a determined silence. Meanwhile Thompson,
then in his first year of service with us, tarried mysteriously heaven
knows where.

The intervals of preparation before each course had been growing
longer and longer and the pause before the savoury threatened to be
infinite. My father commanded me to ring the bell severely. Longing to
escape from the table I did so with emphasis, and my ring summoned (to
our surprise, for we were not aware of her existence in the house) a
slightly soiled kitchen-maid.

"Where is Thompson?" asked my father sternly.

"At the telephone, Sir," stammered the maid.

"The telephone!" cried my father. "Whatever is the matter?"

The maid started to mumble an explanation, burst into tears and fled
in alarm, never again to emerge from the back regions. My father
commanded me to the bell again, but as I rose Thompson entered. He was
even then a stately and dignified person, and it was with a measured
tread and slow that he advanced upon my father.

"Will you please serve the savoury at once?" said my father.

"I am afraid it cannot be done, Sir," said Thompson. "May I explain,
Sir?"

"What is the meaning of this?" asked my father, fearing some terrible
disaster below stairs, and sacrificing politeness to his guests with