“Doctor,” said Doyle, “if things turn out the way we hope——“.
“I suppose you’re knocking a commission out of that nephew of yours for selling his statue for him?”
“Twenty-five per pent, is the amount agreed on. It isn’t everyone I’d tell, but I’ve confidence in you, doctor.”
“And if we get £500 for the pier?”
“A middling good pier,” said Doyle, “as good a pier as anyone’d have a right to expect in a place like this, might be built for £300.”
“That’ll put £120 into your pocket, Doyle, not counting anything you may make on the luncheons!”
“What I was meaning to say, doctor, is, that it would be a satisfaction to me if there was something coming to yourself. You deserve it.”
“Thank you, Doyle; but I’m not in this business to make money.”
“It would be well,” said Doyle with a sigh, “if you’d make a little more now and again.”
“If you’re going to start about that wretched bill I owe you——”