Dick entered, self-conscious and a little defiant, but in the best of tempers with all the world.
'Back at last?' said Torpenhow.
'More or less. What have you been doing?'
'Work. Dickie, you behave as though the Bank of England were behind you. Here's Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday gone and you haven't done a line. It's scandalous.'
'The notions come and go, my children—they come and go like our 'baccy,' he answered, filling his pipe. 'Moreover,' he stooped to thrust a spill into the grate, 'Apollo does not always stretch his—— Oh, confound your clumsy jests, Nilghai!'
'This is not the place to preach the theory of direct inspiration,' said the Nilghai, returning Torpenhow's large and workmanlike bellows to their nail on the wall. 'We believe in cobblers' wax. La!—where you sit down.'
'If you weren't so big and fat,' said Dick, looking round for a weapon, 'I'd——'
'No skylarking in my rooms. You two smashed half my furniture last time you threw the cushions about. You might have the decency to say How d'you do? to Binkie. Look at him.'
Binkie had jumped down from the sofa and was fawning round Dick's knee, and scratching at his boots.
