The disastrous sequel to Poke’s dinner party was the chief topic of talk among the Safety First Club, with Poke himself in a state of mind which can be more easily imagined than described. The breaking of the big vase was due to him. He had had not the slightest intention to break it, but this did not alter the bitter fact. He was responsible for the fall of the vase. Like the honest fellow he was, he accepted the responsibility—and wondered much how he was to meet it.
What had been the value of the vase? Not a member of the club could enlighten him. Varley, approached as one of wider knowledge, declined to venture an opinion.
“It may have cost a lot, or it may have been very cheap,” he said. “Unless you’re an expert, you can’t tell.”
“That’s the way with a lot of things in this world!” groaned Poke, and sought the Shark, as an expert in mathematics, at least.
The Shark gave him little comfort. He was more than ready to undertake a calculation of the possible value of the vase, based on the cost of a bit of cut-glass, owned by his mother, of the price of which he happened to be aware. But though he made most careful estimates of the height of the vase, he soon came to difficulties.
“Look here, Poke!” said he. “I can arrive at an approximation of the volume of the thing, but how does the price increase in comparison with the size? Arithmetical or geometrical progression? If it’s arithmetical, it’ll be bad enough; but if it’s geometrical—whew!”
Poke was aghast. “You—you mean it’d mount up to—to—hundreds of dollars?”
“Hundreds? Rats! Thousands!” snapped the Shark. “Just you wait till I get it in black and white—on estimates, of course. I can’t pretend to get exact results when I’ve no precise data to work on.”
But Poke didn’t wait. Instead, he fled; and seeking out his especial crony, Step, confided to him that he believed he was doomed to be a bond-slave for life.
“You see, I’ve got to work it off myself,” he explained. “When the folks said I could have the party, they made it a condition that there mustn’t be any rough pranks—any breaking things, you know. And I promised there shouldn’t be. And there wasn’t—everybody behaved like a gentleman—till I went smashing into that show-piece. I haven’t told ’em at the house—yet; I’ll never tell ’em if I can possibly help it.”