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LORD ARMITSTEAD The talk was of the war. Presently I turned to Lord Morley and said, "It surprises me that the United States has not yet declared war on Germany." Turning round to face me, with an expression of disdain and in an acrimonious tone, he replied, "Oh, I see! Having got into a mess yourself, you want some one else to pull you out." He had taken me for an Englishman. I did not enlighten him, and from that time addressed myself to the cutlets, which were excellent. A gourmand may not hear what is going on around him, but a gourmet can keep his ears open. Presently Lord Armitstead said, "I see that we shall soon turn the Turks out of Constantinople." Looking up from my plate in time, I saw Lord Morley's thin-cut profile reach across the table almost into Lord Armitstead's flowing white beard, and his acrid voice hissed out, "Yes! and let the Russians in." There are times when the emotions of men seem to burst through their bony barriers, and like waves sweep over you, carrying with them the flotsam and jetsam of a whole fleet of thoughts suddenly struck by a cyclone. I sat overwhelmed, awed by the silence of our host, who seemed to be whispering in his beard, while Lord Morley cynically crunched a bone.

The room in which the invalid sat was heated up to 90°. He did not feel the heat, for his blood circulated slowly; but I suffered, and would often leave the house, mopping my face and head, to enter a cold gray fog full of moist flakes of snow falling slowly and chilling me to the bone. A sudden drop of 55° in the temperature was dangerous, so I hit upon the only safe expedient—for the inside of a cab would have been fatal—which was to run as