He turned back to his desk, and extricating from its remoter recesses another large narrow fat account book—the twin of that he had been poring over—held it up theatrically. “Here’s my marionette accounts for sixteen years—look through ’em and see if you can find any single week—ay, even the week of King William’s funeral—as low as the best of the weeks since I touched your wretched show.”
“My wretched show!” Mr. Flippance lost his blandness. “Why, if that’s the case, it’s you that have depreciated it. You ought to pay me compensation.”
But Duke had dramatically dumped the book down side by side with its twin. “Look on this picture and on that!” he said. “Duke’s Marionettes, week ending March 10th, 1849, Colchester. Total, £23 18s. 10d. Flippance Fit-Up, Colchester Corn Exchange, week ending March 8th, 1851. Monday. Eleven shillings. There’s an opening! Tuesday——”
“Oh, come to the d——d total!” said Tony impatiently.
“There ain’t any total,” said Duke crushingly. “Tuesday, sixteen shillings and sixpence.”
“Always rising, you see!” said Tony.
“Wednesday,” Duke went on implacably, “nine shillings and fourpence——”
“Why, how do you get fourpence?” interrupted Tony severely. “You haven’t been letting down the prices, I hope.”
“That’s noted at the side. See!” said the careful Duke. “A swindler passed off a groat as a tanner. Thursday, Eight and sixpence—imagine the Colchester Corn Exchange with eight and sixpence! Friday. Nine shillings——”
“Rising again, you see,” chirruped Tony.