"I do," Arthur affirmed. "That was what I wanted to talk to you about. We settled it all between us this afternoon. It is quite possible that we may both go to-morrow."
Joe Kenyon again sought refuge in his "Good God!" He appeared to be completely staggered for the moment, looked back at the house, down towards the iron gates, then threw back his head and gently blew a thin wreath of cigar smoke into the air. "What you going to live on?" he asked abruptly.
"I'm going into partnership with the man I was working with before I came here," Arthur said. "We shall have about five hundred a year, I expect, to begin with."
"Is it possible to live on that, in these days?" his uncle asked.
"Oh, yes! rather. It isn't much, of course," Arthur said.
"Both of you?"
"For a time. I hope to make more—in a year or two."
"Then why doesn't Eleanor wait until you've felt your feet a bit?"
"She won't. She wants to get away quite as much as I do—more, I think."