That Scot over there was the counterpart of the McQueen
of my own vintage, who would tell slow stories about Polybius and who played hockey very well indeed. That little bright- eyed, stooping figure over there recalled for me the deft fingers of Roy Crompton, stained with chemicals. Over there in a neat suiting sat my old friend Lambert Orme ; upon the finger of his left hand there should be a simple signet ring of lapis lazuli ; he raised his hand to smooth an eyebrow and the ring was there. Even the President, Mr. Robin Edmonds, with his firm, conservative manner and his fine liberal fore- head, seemed the young embodiment of all the busts and por- traits that lined the walls ; a touch of Asquith, a touch of Halifax, more than a touch of F. E. Smith. So entranced was I in turning the album of my memory that I half forgot to listen to the debate. Yet the debate was interesting in itself.
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