"It is too late," Burton declared, a little doggedly. "I came to ask you if you wanted to join? For two more beans they would make you, too, a director, and give you five thousand shares."
Mr. Waddington shook his head.
"Thank you, Burton," he said, "I would sooner retain my beans. I have no interest in your enterprise. I think it hateful and abominable. I cannot conceive," he went on, "how you, Burton, in your sane mind, could have stooped so low as to associate yourself in any way with the thing."
"You don't know what my temptations were!" Burton groaned.
"And therefore," Mr. Waddington replied, "I will not judge you. Yet do not think that I should ever allow myself to consider your proposition, even for a moment. Tell me, you say you've parted with your last bean—"
"And my time is almost up!" Burton interrupted, beating the table before him. "Only this morning, for an instant, I was afraid!"
"Try and keep your thoughts away from it," Mr. Waddington advised. "Let me show you these new prints. By the bye, where is your wonderful little boy?"
"Gone—back to his mother!" Burton answered grimly. "Didn't you hear us mention him? I left him in my rooms one night and when I came back the whole place was in disorder. He was in a filthy state and sobbing for his home."
"My poor fellow!" Mr. Waddington murmured. "Come, I will take you with me to lunch. We can spend the afternoon in my library. I have some new treasures to show you. We will lose ourselves. For a short time, at least, you shall forget."