"It's extraordinarily expensive," said Mr. Ricketts. "But everything's going up. And mahogany's going up when I get back to B.H., or my name isn't Sydney Ricketts."
"There's nothing you particularly recommend?"
"No, they'll tell you everything you want at the Stores and a bit over, except—oh, yes, by the way, don't let him forget his shaker."
"Is that some special kind of porous overcoat?"
Mr. Ricketts laughed delightedly.
"Well, if that isn't the best thing I've heard since I was home. Porous overcoat! No, no, a shaker is for mixing drinks."
"Humph!" John grunted. "From what I know of my brother, he won't require any special instrument for doing that. Good-by, Mr. Ricketts; my solicitor will write to you about the business side. Good-by."
When John went back to his work he was humming.
"Satisfactory?" his secretary inquired.
"Extremely satisfactory. I think Hugh is very lucky. Ricketts assures me that in another fifteen years—that is about the time Hugh will be wanting to visit England again—there is no reason why he shouldn't be making at least £500 a year. Besides, he won't be lonely, because I shall send Harold out to British Honduras in another five years. It must be a fascinating place if you're fond of natural history, B.H.—as the denizens apparently call it among themselves," he added, pensively.