"Yes."
"Well, you've shifted the stuff.... But you haven't the slightest notion what accommodation they want. You simply don't know."
"I know what accommodation they ought to want with four hundred thousand inhabitants," George retorted pugnaciously.
"Is it four hundred thousand?" Mr. Enwright asked, with bland innocence. He generally left statistics to his partner.
"Four hundred and twenty-five."
"You've looked it up?"
"I have."
Mr. Enwright was now at the desk yet again.
"There's an idea to it," he said shortly, holding up the principal sheet and blinking.
" I shall go in for it !" The thought swept through George's brain like a fierce flare, lighting it up vividly to its darkest corners, and incidentally producing upon his skin phenomena similar to those produced by uncanny sounds on the staircase. He had caught admiration and benevolence in Mr. Enwright's voice. He was intensely happy, encouraged, and proud. He began to talk eagerly; he babbled, entrusting himself to Mr. Enwright's benevolence.