'The fact is you're too well fed, Levasseur, or you look it. That
annoys people. Now I might gorge for a month, and shouldn't put on a
pound.'

'I suppose your household is rationed?'

'Not it! We eat what we want. Just like the labourers. I found an
old labourer eating his dinner under a hedge yesterday. Half a pound
of bread at the very least, and he gets as much for his supper, and
nearly as much for his breakfast. "I shall eat it, Squire, as long
as I can get it. There's nowt else _packs_ ye like bread." And quite
right too. Good word "pack."'

'What'll he do when he can't get it?' laughed Levasseur, taking up
his hat.

'Stuff! This food business is all one big _blague_. Anyway the
Government got us into the war; they're jolly well bound to feed us
through it. They will, for their own necks' sake. Well, good-night.'

Levasseur nodded in response, with the same silent, aimless grin,
and disappeared through the garden door of the library.

'Queer fellow!' thought the Squire. 'But he's useful. I shall get
him to help catalogue these things as he did the others. Ah, there
you are!'

He turned with a reproachful air as the door opened.

The westerly sun was coming strongly into the library, and shone