Chapter 6 - Page 2

boys wanted information
about flags. The Russian and the Serbian flag were in dispute, and the
flag page of Webster's Dictionary had to be consulted. Newspapers and
letters were both abnormally late, and Mr. Britling, tiring of supplying
trivial information to his offspring, smoked cigarettes in the garden.
He had an idea of intercepting the postman. His eyes and ears informed
him of the approach of Mrs. Faber's automobile. It was an old,
resolute-looking machine painted red, and driven by a trusted gardener;
there was no mistaking it.

Mrs. Faber was in it, and she stopped it outside the gate and made
signals. Mrs. Britling, attracted by the catastrophic sounds of Mrs.
Faber's vehicle, came out by the front door, and she and her husband
both converged upon the caller.

Section 2

"I won't come in," cried Mrs. Faber, "but I thought I'd tell you. I've
been getting food."

"Food?"

"Provisions. There's going to be a run on provisions. Look at my flitch
of bacon!"

"But--"

"Faber says we have to lay in what we can. This war--it's going to stop
everything. We can't tell what will happen. I've got the children to
consider, so here I am. I was at Hickson's before nine...."

The little lady was very flushed and bright-eyed. Her fair hair was
disordered, her hat a trifle askew. She had an air of enjoying unwonted
excitements. "All the gold's being hoarded too," she said, with a crow
of delight in her voice. "Faber says that probably our cheques won't be
worth _that_ in a few days. He rushed off to London to get gold at his
clubs--while he can. I had to insist on Hickson taking a cheque.
'Never,' I said, 'will I deal with you again--never--unless you do....'
Even then he looked at me almost as if he thought he wouldn't.

"It's Famine!" she said, turning to Mr. Britling. "I've laid hands on
all I can. I've got the children to consider."

"But why is it famine?" asked Mr. Britling.

"Oh! it _is_!" she said.

"But why?"

"Faber understands," she said. "Of course it's Famine...."

"And would you believe me," she went on, going back to Mrs. Britling,
"that man Hickson stood behind his counter--where I've dealt with him
for _years_, and refused absolutely to let me have more than a dozen
tins of sardines. _Refused!_ Point blank!

"I was there before nine, and even then Hickson's shop was
crowded--_crowded_, my dear!"

"What have you got?" said Mr. Britling with an inquiring movement
towards the automobile.

She had got quite a lot. She had two sides of