‘I’ve got Lake’s place on Chit-Chat!’ cried the other hoarsely. ‘Two hundred and fifty a year! Lake and the editor quarrelled—pummelled each other—neither know nor care what it was about. My fortune’s made!’
‘You’re a modest man,’ remarked Jasper, smiling.
‘Certainly I am. I have always admitted it. But remember that there’s my connection with Fleet as well; no need to give that up. Presently I shall be making a clear six hundred, my dear sir!
A clear six hundred, if a penny!’
‘Satisfactory, so far.’
‘But you must remember that I’m not a big gun, like you! Why, my dear Milvain, a year ago I should have thought an income of two hundred a glorious competence. I don’t aim at such things as are fit for you. You won’t be content till you have thousands; of course I know that. But I’m a humble fellow. Yet no; by Jingo, I’m not! In one way I’m not—I must confess it.’
‘In what instance are you arrogant?’
‘I can’t tell you—not yet; this is neither time nor place. I say, when will you dine with me? I shall give a dinner to half a dozen of my acquaintances somewhere or other. Poor old Biffen must come. When can you dine?’
‘Give me a week’s notice, and I’ll fit it in.’
That dinner came duly off. On the day that followed, Jasper and Dora left town for their holiday; they went to the Channel Islands, and spent more than half of the three weeks they had allowed themselves in Sark. Passing over from Guernsey to that island, they were amused to see a copy of Chit-Chat in the hands of an obese and well-dressed man.