"Thank you. A nice place you have got here. Is he—here?"
Sorrell's eyes met hers.
"No, madam."
"At school—perhaps?"
"Yes."
She smiled faintly, instantly divining his antagonism and the cause of it.
"Of course—it is no use my asking you."
"None at all."
Sampits came into the lounge to find the porter putting away his pocket-book, and his wife placing stamps on two or three letters. Sampits' shirt front bulged: The sides of his trousers were widely braided.
"I say—can you get us a couple of drinks?"
"Certainly, sir."
"What's it to be, Do? An orange cocktail?"
"Yes, that will do me."
"Very good, sir."
Sorrell had no further speech with Kit's mother, and the silver car carried them off next day, yet when Sorrell placed the two suit-cases in the back seat and Sampits was paying Ponds for petrol, Dora beckoned to her first husband. She slipped a five-pound note into his hand, and nodded meaningly. Her nod meant "The boy."
Sorrell went in thoughtfully, with the note crumpled in his hand. He met Hulks' rosy face clapped against the side of a trunk that was balanced on his shoulder. Hulks had just taken unto himself a girl, one of the waitresses.
When Hulks returned from strapping the trunk on to a car Sorrell gave him the five-pound note.
"A swanker gave me this. You can have the lot, Bert."
"Me? Why?"
"My contribution to the ring, you know. And the best of luck, old lad."
Hulks stared at him.
"Was it the bloke with the silver car?"
"Yes."
"Why, he gave me five bob. He starts getting squiffy pretty early. But—I say"
"You keep it, Bert. It's a little return for the way you have backed me up."
