street. That would teach 'em. Yes, Furlong, you'll live
to see it that the whole working-class will one day rise
against the tyranny of the upper classes, and society
will be overwhelmed."

But if Mr. Fyshe had realized that at that moment, in
the kitchen of the Mausoleum Club, in those sacred
precincts themselves, there was a walking delegate of
the Waiters' International Union leaning against a
sideboard, with his bowler hat over one corner of his
eye, and talking to a little group of the Chinese
philosophers, he would have known that perhaps the social
catastrophe was a little nearer than even he suspected.

* * * * * * *

"Are you inviting anyone else tonight?" asked Mr. Furlong.

"I should have liked to ask your father," said Mr. Fyshe,
"but unfortunately he is out of town."

What Mr. Fyshe really meant was, "I am extremely glad
not to have to ask your father, whom I would not introduce
to the Duke on any account."

Indeed, Mr. Furlong, senior, the father of the rector of
St. Asaph's, who was President of the New Amalgamated
Hymnal Corporation, and Director of the Hosanna Pipe and
Steam Organ, Limited, was entirely the wrong man for Mr.
Fyshe's present purpose. In fact, he was reputed to be