Kit's face lit up.
"But, Simon,—why not you?"
"Oh,—I don't want it; too much to do already. Rather a sinecure,—but useful to a man who wants to keep his hands in."
"Do you think I should have a chance?"
"Sir Ormsby mentioned you. I said that I would sound you on the subject. If you are keen"
"What do you think?"
"Well, go and see Sir Ormsby. He is the senior honorary at the Northern Free."
In this way it came about that Christopher was appointed to his first public post, and was able to go down to Winstonbury with the secret up his sleeve. And in the letting loose of such secrets there is much simple human joy.
Christopher never forgot the quick lift of his father's head when he heard the news.
"Great! I'm glad. You have worked for it."
And as they sat by the fire Kit thought of Simon Orange sitting in front of that other fire in St. Mary's Street, a vivid and gnarled figure bulging out an old black velvet coat, its feet thrust into red leather slippers, and a cerise-coloured tie flapping under a heavy and thoughtful chin. That was Orange, good friend, God bless him!
Later that winter Simon Orange became a member of the In-patient Staff, and Kit was given Orange's vacant post.
It was an event. Sorrell came up to town, and Roland and Cherry gave a dinner at Chelsea, and while Sorrell Senior was in London he called upon a very notable firm of house and estate agents and made it known to them that he was ready to purchase a house in one of those decorous streets where the consulting world functions. He was told that there was no such house purchasable at the moment, but that the firm would make inquiries and keep the matter in evidence, and they would hope to communicate with Mr. Sorrell in due course.
Meanwhile, Christopher joined Simon Orange at No. 11, St. Mary's Street, taking over two rooms on the third floor,
