Before he reached the bridge, the other side of him, the man of action, of cool resource in an emergency, rose in rebellion against the league of silly clodhoppers.

Back he strode to the post office and dashed off a telegram.

It ran: "Walter Hart, Savage Club, Adelphi, London.

Come here and help to lay a ghost." He signed it in full, name and address.

Doris was gone, but her father received it, and read the text in a bewildered way.
"I find myself deserted by my Steynholme friends so I am trying to import one stanch one," said Grant, almost vindictively.
Martin murmured the cost, and Grant stormed out again.