George's' came out rather strong last night."

Chilcote had moved back to the table. His face was pale from
his outburst and his fingers toyed restlessly with the open
newspaper.

"I haven't seen the 'St. George's'," he said, hastily.
"Lakely is always ready to shake the red rag where Russia is
concerned; whether we are to enter the arena is another matter.
But what about Craig, Burnage? I think you mentioned
something of a contract."

"Oh, don't worry about that, sir." Blessington had caught the
twitching at the corners of Chilcote's mouth, the nervous
sharpness of his voice. "I can put Craig, Burnage off. If
they have an answer by Thursday it will be time enough." He
began to collect his papers, but Chilcote stopped him.

"Wait," he said, veering suddenly. "Wait. I'll see to it
now. I'll feel more myself when I've done something. I'll
come with you to the study."

He walked hastily across the room; then, with his hand on the
door, he paused.

"You go first, Blessington," he said. "I'll--I'll follow you
in ten minutes. I must glance through the newspapers first."

Blessington looked uncertain. "You won't forget, sir?"