At the office there were whisperings and curious looks; and John’s chiefs conferred in dismay on a position of delicacy that was unexampled in their official experience.

John went home early, with his I Say ’s crumpled in his pocket. And there he found the Rev. Peter Tarrant striding about impatiently with a copy open on the table before him. His head moved about like a great bat just under the low roof; his jolly red face was as full of anger as it could ever be.

“Look here, John,” he roared, “what are you going to do about this⁠—this Muck ?”

“Nothing.”