He surely, he
said, was entitled to a bit of a holiday first, after all he had
been through. London seemed to be swarming with thousands of young
men who claimed they were entitled to a bit of a holiday first
after all they had been through. Huggo was never in the house. He
had picked up with a man, Telfer, whom he had met in France, a big
business man, Huggo described him as, and he seemed to spend all
his time with this man. Telfer was a much older man than Huggo.
Huggo brought him to dinner one night. It was rather a shock to
Rosalie, meeting the man of whom she had heard so much. Huggo had
never said anything about his age. He must have been quite forty.
He had dull, cloudy eyes and a bad mouth. He called Huggo "Kid,"
using the word in every sentence, and it was easy to see from
Harry's manner that Telfer was repellent to him. Easy, also, and
not nice, to see Telfer's dominion over Huggo. Not nice to hear
Huggo's loud, delighted laughter at everything addressed to him
by Telfer. Harry spoke less and less as the meal advanced. The two
left early; they were going to a music hall. When they had gone
Rosalie and Harry looked at one another across the table and by
their look exchanged a great deal.
"That's a detestable companion for Huggo," Harry said. "Rosalie,
there's been enough of this. The boy must get to work."
It appeared, in interviews following that evening, that Huggo was
not a bit keen on the Oxford idea.
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