Mr. Loveday stared at him for a few moments without speaking.
"That is what you have been studying books on poultry for?" he said, presently.
"Yes, sir."
"Well," said Mr. Loveday, after another pause, "there's something in eggs, I dare say. Some of the peasantry in France make quite an income out of them; our own poor country-folk are not so far-seeing."
"What can be done in France," said Timothy, patriotically and sententiously, "can be done in England."
"Don't be too certain of that," said Mr. Loveday. "They grow grapes in France and make wine. We don't."
"That is a matter of climate," remarked Timothy. "Fowls lay eggs in every country in the world, and once laid, there they are."
"To be sure," said Mr. Loveday, staring at his assistant, "there they are."
"Anyhow," said Timothy, "nothing can alter that what will pay in a small way ought to pay in a large; can it, sir?"
"The conclusion appears sensible and reasonable. I suppose you have made something out of your fowl?"