"Of course there's the Final. If they give six months
for the thing I could easily get through the Final before sending-in day. I could take a room somewhere. I shouldn't really want any assistance—clerk, I mean. I could do it all myself...." He ran on until Mr. Enwright stopped him.
"You could have a room here—upstairs."
"Could I?"
"But you would want some help. And you needn't think they'll give six months, because they won't. They might give five."
"That's no good."
"Why isn't it any good?" snapped Mr. Enwright. "You don't suppose they're going to issue the conditions just yet, do you? Not a day before September, not a day. And you can take it from me!"
"Oh! Hurrah!"
"But look here, my boy, let's be clear about one thing."
"Yes?"