At this, however, he merely sniffed and pulled a fountain-pen from his pocket.
"I'll make a start," he said; "'gin' one; 'niggle'—that's rather good—two; 'mug' three." But after that his mind seemed to wander, and he added rather feebly, "and so on. It's ridiculously easy when you have a dictionary. Will you try?"
"No," I replied, and a fierce argument followed.
But just as he was getting really angry my eye fell upon a condition that I had overlooked. "Ten pounds," I saw, "will be awarded to the competitor whose envelope is opened first."
"I'll go in," I said, and Herbert replied, "Good egg, I'll bet you win. Don't forget 'mug.'"
"No, I won't forget 'mug'," I assured him as he left, for his last word had given me an idea.
Solemnly I sat down in front of "Jenkins' Glorious Gum" and saw at once that my word would do. In two minutes "Juggins" had been put into a very large envelope all by himself, and I was out of work again.
But the part that you won't believe has to come.
I won the £10—I did really. Among the multitude of fat envelopes bulging with words, my thin "Juggins" simply insisted upon being opened first. The thousands of chartered accountants assembled for the counting almost fought for him, he was nearly torn in two in their desire to begin with what looked like an easy one—or so I like to imagine the scene. But Herbert is insufferably proud of himself.