“You poor idiot!” he exclaimed. “Been on the razzle-dazzle, I believe. I wish I’d known. I’d have come.”
“It’s all very well to laugh,” Macheson answered. “I feel like a man who’s been living in a sewer.”
“Are you cured?” Holderness asked abruptly.
Macheson hesitated. As yet he had not dared to ask himself that question. Holderness watched the struggle in his face.
“I’m sorry I asked you that,” he said quietly. “Look here! I know what you’ve come to me for, and I can give it you. You can start at once if you like.”
“Work?” Macheson asked eagerly. “You mean that?”
“Of course! Tons of it! Henwood’s at his wits’ end in Stepney. He’s started lecturing, and the thing’s taken on, but he can’t go on night after night. We don’t want anything second-rate either. Then I want help with the paper.”
“I’ll help you with the paper as soon as you like,” Macheson declared. “I’d like to go to Stepney, too, but could we hit it, Henwood and I?”
“Of course,” Holderness answered. “What are you thinking of, man? You haven’t become a straw-splitter, have you?”