“Oh, I remember every word ‘—one of the Chosen People—’ that means you are a Jew, doesn’t it?”
“Of Jewish descent, certainly.”
“Well, it went on: ‘His rise has been meteoric. At twenty he quitted the paternal fried fish shop in the Mile End Road, at thirty he was running a saloon and other industries at Kimberley, and at forty he is building a mansion in Mayfair.’ There was a lot more, but now you see how I knew your age.”
“It is perfectly clear. There only remains the liver.”
“I got that from the pill advertisement. There are several sure signs of congestion, and you have all of them in your face and eyes. Shall I show it to you? Those pills might cure you.”
“Really, you are too kind for words. May I ask if your sister shares your knowledge of my career and state of health?”
“Did I show her the paper, do you mean?”
“Yes.”
“No, I had forgotten all about it, but if you would like her to see it—”
“Look here, Miss Millicent, you are a sharp girl. Now, I’ll make a bargain with you. Find that paper, say no more about the paragraph—which, I may tell you, is rank nonsense from start to finish—and your Christmas box will be five sovereigns.”