academic tradition and peered round to see the effect.
He was rewarded. Mr Campion appeared to have been stricken dumb.
âIs that in the book?â he inquired humbly after a pause.
âI expecâ so,â said Lugg, adding magnificently, âI read it somewhere. Mr Tukeâs getting me interested in education. Education is the final stamp of good class, thatâs what âe says.â
âAnd a belt,â murmured Campion. âDonât forget that.â
The fat man heaved himself towards the desk.
âLook âere,â he said belligerently, âI expected somethinâ like this. Every step Iâve took in an upward direction youâve done your best to nark. Now Iâm on to somethinâ useful. Iâm goinâ to educate myself, and then Iâll never feel inferior, not with anybody, see?â
âMy dear chap â â Mr Campion was touched. âYou donât feel inferior with anybody now, surely, do you? Lay off, Lugg. This is a horrible line.â
The other man regarded him shrewdly. His little black eyes were winking, and there was a certain sheepishness in his expression which was out of character.
âNot with you, of course, cock,â he conceded affectionately. âBut I do with Mr Tuke. âE thinks about it. Still, let âim wait.â
âIs it
all
in the book?â inquired Mr Campion, whom the idea seemed to fascinate.
âA ruddy great lot of it is.â Mr Lugg wrestled with his pocket. âIâll be as hot as most when I get this on board.â He produced a small dictionary of quotations and laid it metaphorically at Mr Campionâs feet. âIâm leavinâ out the Yiddish,â he remarked as they turned over the pages together. âSee that bit there? â and thereâs another over âere.â
Campion sighed.
âIt may be Yiddish to you, guvânor,â he murmured, âbut itâs Greek to me. These two lads Milt and Shakes get an unfair look in, donât they?â
âTheyâre all all right.â Lugg was magnanimous. âBut when I get good Iâll do me own quotations. A quotationâs only a short neat way of sayinâ somethinâ everybody knows, like â
Itâs crackers to slip a rozzer the dropsy in snide
â. That s the sort of thing. Only you want it to be about somethinâ less âomely . . . women and such.â
Mr Campion seemed rather taken with the idea of running a line in personal quotations on the system of âevery man his own poetâ, and Lugg was gratified.
âI donât often get you goinâ,â he observed with satisfaction. âLucky I âit on this; it might have been religion. Thereâs a bloke at the club . . .â
âNo,â said Mr Campion, pulling himself together. âNo, old boy. No, really. Not now.â
âThatâs what I tell âim.â Lugg was cheerful. âIâll come to it, I says, but not now. Iâm sorry, mate, but I donât see yer as a brother yet. Which reminds me â what about your sis? Sheâll be âere any minute. Whatâs she up to? Sheâs in with a funny crowd, isnât she?â
âVal? I donât think so.â
Lugg sniffed. âI do. Mr Tuke tell me in confidence that âe âeard someone pass a remark about seeinâ âer at a luncheon party at The Tulip with a very funny lot . . . that bloke Ramillies, for one.â
Once more Mr Campion pushed his letter aside, faint distaste on his face.
âOf course we donât want to go listeninâ to servantsâ gossip,â continued Lugg happily, âbut I like that girl and I wouldnât like to see âer mixed up with a chap like Ramillies.â
He pronounced the name with such a wealth of disgust that his employerâs interest was stirred in spite of himself.
âIâve met Sir Raymond