“Sunday last,” said Titus. “Never mind. What about it, my dear? One can’t have everything. I like changing myself, but if I can nobble a hundred by staying foul, I’ll make the sacrifice. Why, for half six thousand a week I’d sleep in my clothes. An’ we don’t have to.”
“But what’s the good of it all if we don’t enjoy it?”
“I hope to,” said Titus. “I hope to enjoy it very much.”
“When?” said his wife.
“When the boom’s over,” said Titus. “This sort of thing can’t last. Don’t you believe it. It’s just on the cards that it might hang on for a year, but——”
“A year?” screamed Blanche. “Well, if it does you needn’t count on me. I’ve lost five months of my life and I’m not going to lose seven more.”
“Lost?” cried Titus. “Oh, the girl’s mad. Twelve hundred a day, an’ she talks about ‘losing’ time.” He covered his eyes. “Give me strength,” he murmured. Then—“You only get one orange,” he said solemnly. “If you like to chuck it away before you’ve sucked it dry, you can do it all right. Nothing’s easier. But if you do you’ll repent it. For one thing, you’re flouting Fortune—throwing her goods in her face.”
“Rot,” said Blanche shortly. “We’ve made enough. We started in to give me something to do—not to make money. Well, I’ve had my whack. I’ve had enough to do to last me the rest of my life. Incidentally, I’ve been paid—very handsomely paid. Well, I’m extremely grateful. I’ve got my pretty cake and I’ve eaten it too. And now I’m for putting my feet up.”
“That’s very specious,” said Titus, “but the answer is this. The ‘incident,’ as you style it, has swallowed the main idea. To be truthful, it swallowed it before we opened the shambles—or, if not before, as soon as the sheep rolled up. When you’re out for a walk and you strike a trail of nuggets, you’re apt to forget that you’re only out for exercise. And quite right too. Why? Because you usually have to dig for nuggets, and then like as not you’re wrong.”
He paused there to steal a glance at his wife.