Twyning took the hand and gripped it with a firmness characteristic of his handshake.
"Thanks, old man. Thanks awfully. Of course I know what you mean. But after all, look at the thing, eh? I mean to say, you've been here—what—ten or twelve years. Well, I've been over twenty-five. Natural, eh? And you're doing splendidly. Every one knows that. It's only a question of time. Thanks awfully." He reached for Sabre's hand again and again gripped it hard.
Sabre went back and sat against his desk. "What rather got me, you know, coming all of a sudden like that, was that Fortune promised me partnership, twice, quite a bit ago."
Twyning, who had been speaking with an emotion in consonance with the grip of his hand, said a little blankly, "Did he? That so?"
"Yes, twice. And this looked like, when you told me—well, like dissatisfaction since, see? Eh?"
Twyning did not take up the point. "I say, you never told me."
"I'm telling you now," Sabre said. And he laughed ruefully. "It comes to much the same thing—as it turns out."
"Yes, but still.... I wish we worked in a bit more together, Sabre. I'm always ready to, you know. Let's, shall we?"
Sabre made no reply. Twyning repeated "Let's" and nodded and left the room. Immediately he opened the door again and reappeared. "I say, you won't say anything to Jonah, of course?"
Sabre smiled grimly. "I'm going to."