"My dear, my dear," put in Crowl, deprecatingly, looking up from his quadrupedal position like a sad dog, "you are not Cantercot's keeper."
"Oh, ain't I?" flashed his spouse. "Who else keeps him I should like to know?"
Peter went on picking up the pieces of the Koh-i-noor.
"I have no secrets from Mrs. Crowl" Denzil explained courteously. "I have been working day and night bringing out a new paper. Haven't had a wink of sleep for three nights."
Peter looked up at his bloodshot eyes with respectful interest.
"The capitalist met me in the street—an old friend of mine—I was overjoyed at the rencontre and told him the idea I'd been brooding over for months and he promised to stand all the racket."
"What sort of a paper?" said Peter.
"Can you ask? To what do you think I've been devoting my days and nights but to the cultivation of the Beautiful?"
"Is that what the paper will be devoted to?"
"Yes. To the Beautiful."