"Good afternoon, Stephen; thought I'd look in for a moment. No, thanks."
This in answer to Ringsmith's offer of tea.

"Mrs. Stillwell told me about the deal, Stephen."

"Well, were you satisfied?"

Peter Knott didn't answer the question.

"By the way," he remarked softly, "her boy's just come back. Got shot
through one of his lungs. Extraordinary thing--miracle almost. He's made
a marvellous recovery, thanks entirely to a motor ambulance being handy.
They got him to the base hospital, and now he's almost convalescent.
Aren't you glad you subscribed, Stephen?"

"Of course I'm glad. I don't give money unless I want to."

"You are very good about it, Stephen--very. I was wondering
whether"--Peter Knott looked up at Ringsmith--"you'd feel like giving me
another little cheque. You know these ambulances break down dreadfully
fast. Fresh ones are always wanted, and with the new campaign--"

"Really, Peter, you try me pretty high. It's give, give, give. You seem
to think that I've got a bottomless pocket."

"Not exactly bottomless, Stephen."

"But I say you do. I can't go on like this. Every day there's some new
demand. Look at this." He took a type-written letter from the table and
handed it to his friend. Peter Knott stuck his eyeglass into his eye and