"My brother," Billy resumed, with a glance of protest towards his interruptor, "has, for some reason or another, become a publisher. That's all right. Not being an author, I don't complain. Having done pretty badly—"
"The public's no good," said Gilly gloomily.
"He wants to drag in some unfortunate person to be his partner. I understand, Gilly, that, if really well recommended, your accepted partner can lose his time, and the rest of his money, for no more than three thousand pounds—paid down on the nail without discount?"
"You've a charming way of recommending the project to Mr. Hayes' consideration," said Gilly, in reproachful resignation.
"To my consideration," Andy exclaimed, laughing. "What's it got to do with me?"
"It's a real chance," Gilly persisted. "And if you're out of a job, and happen to be able to lay your hands on five—"
"Three!" whispered Billy.
"—thousand pounds, you might do worse than look into it. Now, I must go," and with no more than a nod to serve as farewell to all the party he rose and sauntered slowly away. He had not touched his brandy; his brother reached over thoughtfully and appropriated it. "I may as well, as I'm going to pay for it," he remarked.
Suddenly Andy found himself telling the Nun all about his cable and his affairs. The other two listened; all three were very friendly and sympathetic; even Miss Dutton forbore to sneer. Andy expanded in the kindly atmosphere of interest. "I don't want to go back, you know," he said with a smile that appealed for understanding. "But I must, unless something turns up."