and a title. I could not make out whose head, but I read the title, and the title was clear."
"What was it?"
"'The Gilded Clique.'"
"Clique! what was that?"
"A society, a party, and I know what was meant."
"Some one must have chucked the book," again reasoned the prosaic Tubb.
"It was not chucked, it fell. I was wrong to tell you of my vision. The revelation is not for such as you. I will say no more."
"And pray, what do you make out of this queer tale?" asked the captain of the lime quarry, with ill-disguised incredulity.
"Is it not plain as the day? I have had revealed to me that the doom of the British aristocracy is pronounced, the House of Lords, the privileged class—in a word, the whole Gilded Clique?"
Tubb shook his head.
"You'll never satisfy me it weren't chucked," he said. "But, to change the subject, Saltren. You have read and studied more than I have. Can you tell me what sort of a plant Quinquagesima is, and whether it is grown from seed, or cuttings, or layers?"
