“Put one of them back.”
John obeyed and held the other one in his hand uncertainly.
“That,” said Barnes, “is our first annual dividend. It should have been sent to you before.”
“Thank you, sir. I didn’t hope for so much, but—”
“You may go,” said Barnes, picking up his razor.
Barnes completed his dressing with dispatch. It occurred to him that if he hurried he might possibly beat out Aunt Philomela, and so have a few words with the girl before she came down.
As he stepped into the living-room, Aunt Philomela greeted him with a curt nod.
“I trust three-fingered Bill didn’t disturb your dreams,” he observed with polite interest.
The girl was nowhere to be seen.
“Bah. Something worse,” snapped Aunt Philomela as though she held him directly responsible for it. “It was half a walrus.”