Mr. Wallingford calmly closed one blue orb.
"But in chilly figures, discounting next year, how many?" he asked. "Live ones, I mean, that cough up their little dues every month."
The Supreme Exalted Ruler squirmed and smiled a trifle weakly.
"You might just as well tell me, you know," insisted Mr. Wallingford, "because I shall want to inspect your books if I buy in. Have you a thousand?"
"Not quite," confessed Mr. Clover, in a voice which, in spite of him, would sound a trifle leaden.
"Have you five hundred?" persisted Mr. Wallingford.
Mr. Clover considered, while the silent Mr. Daw discreetly kept his face straight.
"Five hundred and seventeen," he blurted, his face reddening.
"That isn't so bad," said Mr. Wallingford encouragingly. "But how do you clinch your rake-off?"
At this Mr. Clover could smile with smug content; he could swell with pride.