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Flory stood up. He had got to say his say. His heart seemed to have risen into his throat and to be
choking him. From what Mr Macgregor had said, it was clear that it was in his power to secure the
doctor’s election by speaking the word. But oh, what a bore, what a nuisance it was! What an infernal
uproar there would be! How he wished he had never given the doctor that promise! No matter, he had
given it, and he could not break it. So short a time ago he would have broken it, en bon pukka sahib,
how easily! But not now. He had got to see this thing through. He turned himself sidelong so that his
birthmark was away from the others. Already he could feel his voice going flat and guilty.
‘Our friend Flory has something to suggest?’
‘Yes. I propose Dr Veraswami as a member of this Club.’
There was such a yell of dismay from three of the others that Mr Macgregor had to rap sharply on
the table and remind them that the ladies were in the next room. Ellis took not the smallest notice. He
had sprung to his feet again, and the skin round his nose had gone quite grey. He and Flory remained
facing one another, as though on the point of blows.
‘Now, you damned swab, will you take that back?’
‘No, I will not.’
‘You oily swine! You nigger’s Nancy Boy! You crawling, sneaking, f——bloody bastard!’
‘Order!’ exclaimed Mr Macgregor.
‘But look at him, look at him!’ cried Ellis almost tearfully. ‘Letting us all down for the sake of a
pot-bellied nigger! After all we’ve said to him! When we’ve only got to hang together and we can
keep the stink of garlic out of this Club for ever. My God, wouldn’t it make you spew your guts up to
see anyone behaving like such a——?’
‘Take it back, Flory, old man!’ said Westfield. ‘Don’t be a bloody fool!’
‘Downright Bolshevism, dammit!’ said Mr Lackersteen.
‘Do you think I care what you say? What business is it of yours? It’s for Macgregor to decide.’
‘Then do you–ah–adhere to your decision?’ said Mr Macgregor gloomily.
‘Yes.’
Mr Macgregor sighed. ‘A pity! Well, in that case I suppose I have no choice–’
‘No, no, no!’ cried Ellis, dancing about in his rage. ‘Don’t give in to him! Put it to the vote. And if
that son of a bitch doesn’t put in a black ball like the rest of us, we’ll first turf him out of the Club
himself, and then–well! Butler!’
‘Sahib!’ said the butler, appearing.
‘Bring the ballot box and the balls. Now clear out!’ he added roughly when the butler had obeyed.
The air had gone very stagnant; for some reason the punkah had stopped working. Mr Macgregor
stood up with a disapproving but judicial mien, taking the two drawers of black and white balls out of
the ballot box.
‘We must proceed in order. Mr Flory proposes Dr Veraswami, the Civil Surgeon, as a member of
this Club. Mistaken, in my opinion, greatly mistaken; however–! Before putting the matter to the
vote–’
‘Oh, why make a song and dance about it?’ said Ellis. ‘Here’s my contribution! And another for
Maxwell.’ He plumped two black balls into the box. Then one of his sudden spasms of rage seized