"Of course they count," Tietjens said. "They write for the Press. They can get anybody anything . . . except themselves!"
"Like you!" Sylvia said; "exactly like you! They're a lot of bribed squits."
"Oh, no," Tietjens said. "It isn't done obviously or discreditably. Don't believe that Macmaster distributes forty-pounders yearly of bounty on condition that he gets advancement. He hasn't, himself, the least idea of how it works, except by his atmosphere."
"I never knew a beastlier atmosphere," Sylvia said. "It reeked of rabbit's food."
"You're quite mistaken," Tietjens said; "that is the Russian leather of the backs of the specially bound presentation copies in the large bookcase."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Sylvia said. "What are presentation copies? I should have thought you'd had enough of the beastly Russian smells Kiev stunk of."
Tietjens considered for a moment.
"No! I don't remember it," he said. "Kiev? . . . Oh, it's where we were . . ."
"You put half your mother's money," Sylvia said, "into the Government of Kiev 12½ per cent. City Tramways. . . ."
At that Tietjens certainly winced, a type of wincing that Sylvia hadn't wanted.