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Dinner proved something of a disaster for poor J. S. He felt like a young actor none too sure of his part and taking the stage for the first time. Everybody seemed to be looking at him, which, of course, was not so. The meal began with soup, pea soup, and Mrs. Pomeroy had given orders that it was to be served from the sideboard. Mr. Slade grabbed the ladle and gave Florence a look of appeal.

“You take the plates round.”

Florence humoured him. Why did poor old Dad look so scared? What was there to be afraid of? So, Mr. Slade ladled out the soup, and Florence, with a plate in each hand, did the serving. The second course was roast-beef, Yorkshire pudding and vegetables, and again Mr. Slade funked the crisis. He had not carved a joint for many years, and he handed the tools to Florrie. A meat plate was not a soup plate, and Mr. Slade thought that he could cope with meat plates.

He had forgotten the gravy. Gravy was supplied from the sideboard, the plates distributed, and then the vegetable dishes went round. Maybe, Florence was too lavish with the gravy, and Miss Goodbody indulged in one of her nervous wriggles just as Mr. Slade was presenting Mr. Sawkins with his plate. The jerk of Miss Goodbody’s elbow sent the gravy over the tablecloth and also over Mr. Sawkins’s sleeve.

James Slade was stricken with horror.

“I do apologize, sir. I am most grievously sorry.”

Mr. Sawkins was angrily dabbing his sleeve with his serviette. Mrs. Pomeroy was looking knives and pistols at James Slade. But Miss Goodbody saved the situation, and Mr. Slade never forgot her twittering intervention. Miss Goodbody might fuss in the future, but he forgave her.

“It really was my fault. I’m afraid I nudged—his—arm.”

Mr. Truslove, who had been observing poor James’s stricken face, confirmed the diagnosis.

“Yes, I’m afraid you did, Miss G. Pure accident, pure accident.”

Mr. Sawkins was still dabbing irritably at his sleeve.

“Too much gravy on the plate.”

Mr. Slade spoke soothingly to Mr. Sawkins over Mr. Sawkins’s shoulder.

“If you will let me have your coat, sir, after dinner, I’ll have it cleaned for you.”

Mr. Sawkins was not gracious.

“Yes, you’d better.”