"Daddy, dear! Not as much as that, surely?"
Quinney cocked his head at a sharp angle, while he computed certain sums.
"I figure it out in this way," he said slowly. "In hard cash you stand me in about fifteen hundred spread over the last ten years. Now, if I'd stuffed that amount into Waterford glass, I could have cleaned up five thousand at least. See?"
"I see," said Posy, and laughed again.
"The question now is," continued Quinney, absorbed in admiration of her delicate colouring, "what the 'ell am I going to do with such a fancy piece?"
"Father!" exclaimed Susan. "Do please try to remember that you're not talking to Mr. Tomlin."
"When I feel strongly," replied Quinney simply, "I just have to use strong language. Posy has come home to what?"
"She's come home, Joe. That's enough. Why bother about anything else?"
"Because I'm the bothering sort, old dear—that's why. I look ahead. I count my chickens before they're hatched."
Susan said slily: