to be considered. And—me, the job, the hotel. You are not a sportsman. That's my point."
"I beg to differ, sir."
"Oh, of course. But you are not a sportsman. I've known that for some time now. You're a greedy animal. That's that."
He nodded at Sorrell, and Sorrell opened the door.
"You shall have your money in the morning, before you go. Now, clear out to your room."
"Well, sir, I never thought you would treat me like this."
"Buck, I'm not a fool."
The big man went out with a kind of pitying swagger, and Roland, smiling faintly, made a sign to Sorrell that he was to remain.
"I want to speak to you, Stephen. By the way, have those people arrived yet?"
"No, sir."
"Wait, isn't that a car?"
"I think it is"
"Well, go and get them fixed up, and then come back here, unless you are too tired."
"I'm not too tired, sir."
"Good. I have a few things to say."
Sorrell dealt with the late arrivals and their luggage, and never had luggage seemed so light. He was beyond tiredness; he felt that he had climbed above things physical, and that he was on the peak of months of moiling and of effort, looking down and back and upwards in an air that was clear and stimulating. The bull had gone the way of the lioness, and he was left in happy relationship with a man.
Roland's door was ajar, and Sorrell knocked.
"Come in, Stephen."
He saw a decanter of whisky, a siphon, and two glasses on the table; also a box of cigarettes. Sorrell closed the door, for he felt that Mr. Roland wished him to close-it upon the sealing of a new and more intimate comradeship.
