Old Chiswick gave a kind of moaning howl.
'I absolutely forbid you, Francis, to do this thing!'
'That's all very well,' said Bicky, wonderfully braced, 'but if I can't get the money any other way—'
'Wait! Er—wait, my boy! You are so impetuous! We might arrange something.'
'I won't go to that bally ranch.'
'No, no! No, no, my boy! I would not suggest it. I would not for a moment suggest it. I—I think—' He seemed to have a bit of a struggle with himself. 'I—I think that, on the whole it would be best if you returned with me to England. I—I might—in fact, I think I see my way to doing—to—I might be able to utilize your services in some secretarial position.'
'I shouldn't mind that.'
'I should not be able to offer you a salary, but, as you know, in English political life the unpaid secretary is a recognized figure—'
'The only figure I'll recognize,' said Bicky firmly, 'is five hundred quid a year, paid quarterly.'
'My dear boy!'