"Let me explain," said Berry, taking an olive from a dish. "You see that salt-cellar?"
"Yes," said Jill, staring.
"Well, that represents a dollar. The olive is a franc, and this here roll is a pound." He cleared his throat. "When the imports exceed the exports, the roll rises"—up went his hand—"as good bread should. But when the exports exceed the imports, or the President backs a winner, or something, then the olive begins to soar. In a word, the higher the fewer."
Jill passed a hand across her sweet pretty brow.
"But what's the salt-cellar got to do with it?"
"Nothing whatever," said Berry. "That was to distract your attention."
Jill choked with indignation.
"I'll never ask you anything again," she said severely. "After all, if you can't help yourself, it isn't likely you can help me. And, any way, I wouldn't have been so silly as to go and cash a cheque when the franc had gone down."
"Up," said I relentlessly.
"But how can it——"