"Oh, an engine driver at the works."
"Ah!" Mr Donovan made a mental note of the name and address of the man who could drive in tin tacks at twenty yards.
Darwen took a drink. "This is the third occasion on which I have had a narrow escape of my life!" he observed.
Mr Donovan started like a frightened horse. "What do you mean?" he asked.
"I'm a great believer in luck, that's all. A new servant of my mother's, a gipsy girl, told my fortune the other day. 'You'll have several exciting adventures, but you'll always be very lucky,' she said."
"She told me I should always be a winner," Carstairs remarked.
Mr Donovan looked from one to the other. He was very superstitious himself, but he didn't know whether they were in jest or earnest.
"Yes," Darwen continued, "this is the third and last attempt. There'll be no more." He rose and held out his hand with a smile.
Mr Donovan's face was like a lump of dough.
"By the way," Darwen said, "I was forgetting what I came for. Carstairs is putting in for a rise too, a £50 rise. I suppose I can rely on your assistance, Mr Donovan?"