"Then, if I pursue the excellent common-sense tactics of the
lesser sand-eel, which as you doubtless know buries itself tail
upwards in the mud on hearing the baying of the eel-hounds and
remains in that position till the danger is past, I shall be able
to postpone an interview. Should you be questioned as to my
whereabouts, inflate your chest and reply in a clear and manly
voice that I have gone out, you know not where. May I rely on
your benevolent neutrality, Bayliss?"

"Very good, Mr. James."

"I think I will go and sit in my father's den. A man may lie hid
there with some success as a rule."

Jimmy heaved himself painfully off the sofa, blinked, and set out
for the den, where his father, in a deep arm-chair, was smoking a
restful pipe and reading the portions of the daily papers which
did not deal with the game of cricket.

Mr. Crocker's den was a small room at the back of the house. It
was not luxurious, and it looked out onto a blank wall, but it
was the spot he liked best in all that vast pile which had once
echoed to the tread of titled shoes; for, as he sometimes
observed to his son, it had the distinction of being the only
room on the ground floor where a fellow could move without
stubbing his toe on a countess or an honourable. In this peaceful
backwater he could smoke a pipe, put his feet up, take off his
coat, and generally indulge in that liberty and pursuit of
happiness to which the Constitution entitles a free-born