"In my opinion it's about time you got out of that habit. Now you must go, or you'll make me too late to get anything to eat. As you may guess, wearing this shell involves a fundamental reconstruction before I can present myself at supper."
Andy took her hand and pressed it. "I'm so jolly glad you've got such a success, Doris. And the armour's ripping!"
There followed three weeks of what Gilly Foot, over his lunch at the restaurant and his dinner at the Artemis, used to describe as "incredible grind for both of us." Then a day of triumph! The outcome of the latest brilliant idea, the new scientific primer, was accepted as the text-book in the County Council secondary schools. Gilly wore a Nunc Dimittis air.
"Eton and Harrow! Pooh!" said he. "A couple of hundred copies a year apiece, perhaps. Give me the County Council schools! The young masses being bred on Gilbert Foot and Co.—that's what I want. The proletariat is our game! If this spreads over the country, and I believe it will, we shall be rich men in no time, Andy."
Andy was smiling broadly—not that he had any particular wish to be rich, but because successful labour is marvellously sweet.
"Do you happen to remember that it was you who gave me the germ of that idea?"
"No, surely I didn't? I don't remember. I can't have, Gilly."
"Oh yes, you did. That arrangement of the tables of comparison?"
"Oh, ah! Yes—well, I do remember something about that. But that's only a trifle. You did all the rest."
"That's what's fetched them, though; I know it is." He gave a sigh. "Andy, I shall grudge you that all the rest of my life." He put his head on one side, and regarded his partner with a peaceful smile. "You're a remarkable chap, you know. Some day or other I believe you'll end by making me work! Sometimes I kind of feel the infection creeping over me. I distinctly hurried lunch to-day to come back and talk about this."