Noll saw out of the corner of his alert eye that honour was satisfied, and as he ran his finger pensively down a large splash of ink that had dried on the wall beside his desk, he asked:
“Well?... About that confidence!”
Netherby Gomme cleared his throat:
“Now, Oliver, don’t say anything about this to anyone. It might make me so ridiculous, and—professional humorists are keenly sensitive to ridicule——”
“Lor!” said Noll, leaving the patch on the wall. “Get on.”
“This is in strict confidence, Noll.”
“Oh, it’s Julia all right enough,” growled Noll.
Gomme went on, ignoring the comment:
“Noll, it is one of the penalties of fame that its victims must appear in the brilliant world of fashion.” He coughed. “Come here, Noll.” He unlocked and pulled open the drawer before him, and Noll, aroused to sudden interest, sidled over to him as he brought out from the drawer a very carefully folded dress-coat. “Oliver, I’ve got a dress-coat. You see, I may have to go into society at any moment, now that my book has caught the public eye.”
Noll put out his hand: