“Gorman,” he said, “you are right. It is rot, what you call dry rot, to die. And there is more tether, perhaps. You say so, and I trust you, my friend. But where is it, the tether beyond the end?”
Madame, having relieved her feelings by breaking the china jar to bits, suddenly became gentle and pathetic. She flung herself on to the floor at Gorman’s feet and clasped his knees.
“You are our friend,” she said, “now and always. Oh Gorman, Sir Gorman, M.P., drag out more tether so that my Konrad does not die.”
Gorman disliked emotional scenes very much. He persuaded Madame to sit on a chair instead of the floor. He handed her a cigarette. The king, who understood her thoroughly, sent for some liqueur brandy and filled a glass for her.
“Now,” he said. “Trot up, cough out, tell on, Gorman. Where is the tether which has no end? How am I to raise the dollars, shekels, oof? You have a plan, Gorman. Make it work.”
“My plan,” said Gorman, “ought to work. I don’t say it’s a gold mine, but there’s certainly money in it I came across a man yesterday called Bilkins, who’s made a pile, a very nice six figure pile out of eggs—contracts, you know, war prices, food control and all the usual ramp.”
“Alas,” said the king, “I have no eggs, not one. I cannot ramp.”
“I don’t expect you to try,” said Gorman. “As a matter of fact I don’t think the thing could be done twice. Bilkins only just pulled it off. My idea——”
“I see it,” said Madame. “We invite the excellent Bilkins to dinner. We are gay. He and we. There is a little game with cards. Konrad and I are more than a match for Bilkins. That is it, Gorman. It goes.”
“That’s not it in the least,” said Gorman. “Bilkins isn’t that kind of man at all. He’s a rabid teetotaller for one thing, and he’s extremely religious. He wouldn’t play for anything bigger than a sixpence, and you’d spend a year taking a ten-pound note off him.”