his wife was his favourite niece and much attached to him; but Jack
declared that his uncle was horribly mean, and only tolerated Baxendale
because he could get dinner at his house for nothing.

At the beginning of the War Baxendale began complaining about his nerves.
Somehow he didn't enjoy his food and couldn't get a proper night's sleep.
He'd tried Benger's Food last thing at night and Quaker Oats for
breakfast, but nothing seemed to do him any good.

The curious part of Baxendale's illness was that he continued to look
perfectly well, but he seemed to get offended if people said so; what
really touched him was pity. There's a man at the club called Funkelstein
whom everybody supposed was a German, but now he says he's Dutch. Just
after the War broke out, Baxendale told every one confidentially he was a
spy, but, to our surprise, they suddenly became quite friendly. It seemed
that Funkelstein also suffered from nerves. Baxendale said he was most
sympathetic to him personally, and alluded to him as "poor Funkelstein."
As time went on Baxendale's nerves grew worse, and it was thought he must
have been badly hit financially by the War, till Peter Knott told us that
he had invested most of his wife's and his own money in shipping
companies and coal-mine debentures which had done nothing but rise ever
since the War began. On the strength of this satisfactory information
Baxendale was occasionally approached for subscriptions; but his response
was generally evasive, or the amount offered so minute that he felt
compelled to explain it by expressing his apprehensions about new
taxation and the insane extravagance of the Government.

After a time Baxendale told us he could hardly bear to open a paper; he
never knew what he might read next, and he felt he could not stand any
more shocks. That made us suppose he had a brother or some near relative