The offensive letter was not only produced, but offered for inspection after a precautionary glance. Thrush was on his feet to receive it in outstretched hand. Already he looked extraordinarily keen for his bulk, but the reading of the letter left him alive and alert to the last superfluous ounce.
“But this is magnificent!” he cried, with eyes as round as their glasses.
“I confess I don’t see why.”
“Cigarettes d’Auvergne!”
“Some French rubbish.”
“The boy has evidently been dependent on them?”
“It looks like it.”
“And this man Bompas made him give them all up?”
“So he has the impudence to say.”
“Is it possible you don’t see the importance of all this?”