the hope of saving lives in the kitchen.

Thompson cleared his throat.--"For some weeks, Sir," he said, "I have
been much worried with financial affairs. Like a fool I have invested
all my savings in speculative shares, and the variations of the market
have unduly depressed me. When I am depressed I take no food, and that
depresses me even more."

You will be as surprised as we were that this was allowed to continue,
but when a man of so few words as Thompson chooses to come out of
his shell he is always master of the situation. "And so, Sir," he
continued, "I have taken the liberty of telephoning to the mews for
a cab."

He paused and bowed, as if this made it all clear, and was about
to withdraw. "Kindly finish serving dinner at once, and don't be
impudent," my father got out at last.

Thompson sighed. "It is absolutely out of the question, Sir," said he.
"Quite, quite impossible."

"Why on earth?" cried my father.

Thompson became, if possible, more solemn and deliberate than before.
"I am drunk, Sir," said he.

At this point Mrs. Robinson, whose indignation had slowly been
swelling within her, rose and left the room. Robinson, as in duty
bound, followed. Neither of them, to my infinite joy, has ever
returned...