“Of course it matters,” Sir Reginald admitted cheerfully. “Matters like hell, sometimes. But as I look round the world today, I can’t say I grudge it to ’em. To the fellas that run the country, I mean. As I look round, I feel England’s got something to show for my money, and yours, and the next man’s.”

“And when you die,” Chantrell reminded him, “they’ll build another battleship out of the proceeds.”

“That might be a good idea too,” nodded Sir Reginald.

“More guns—more ships—more bombers!” cried Chantrell with sarcasm. “More gas-masks—more shells— more tanks! Why? So it can all happen again! So I can go out and get killed like my father, but before I can try to make some woman happy, before I’ve seen a son—”

“Maybe not,” Sir Reginald told him gently. “Maybe we’ll pull through. Mind you, I’m no optimist. I don’t like the looks of things any better than you do. But look round a bit. Tell me some other city in Europe you’d rather be in tonight, sitting on a damp stone step under a statue cursing out the Government to a total stranger. See what I mean?”

There was a silence.

“Show us a better ’ole, old boy,” suggested Hilary softly.

Sir Reginald appeared to consider this, gazing into the middle distance.

“Ever been abroad?” he queried.

“Abroad! Me?” Chantrell’s lip curled. “That’s a fairly funny question!”

“You ought to go clean round the world,” Sir Reginald told him. “Don’t miss out anything. Berlin — Paris — Prague — Vienna — Rome — oh, yes, and Leningrad and Moscow — Palestine — India — don’t forget China and Japan — Mexico — Chicago —’tisn’t so bad in Chicago as it used to be — New York — nice spot of election coming on there pretty soon — they have enough to eat, though. Well, so have we. I think, take it all in all, and one thing with another, you’d be willing to come back home.”

“Home to what?” Chantrell spread his bony, well kept hands. “A furnished room in Kilburn — a stool in a long row of stools, and endless columns of marching figures — pounds, shillings, and pence belonging to somebody else – somebody like you!”

“You mean you’re one of those fellows in a bank?” Sir Reginald’s tone became deeply sympathetic.

“Tea and an egg for lunch,” Chantrell went on, relentlessly. “Shepherd’s pie for dinner. Always the cheapest thing on the menu, and no coffee because it’s extra. Always the cheapest seat at the cinema, and always a cinema because it’s cheaper than the theatre. Second-hand books, and go without cigarettes to buy them—”

“Do you like to read?” interrupted Sir Reginald in some surprise. “Got rather a good library myself. Care to use it?”

“How do you know I won’t pinch the silver candlesticks when I go?” inquired Chantrell with flimsy cynicism.