Dimmy thought long and painfully. For him there were but two scales of income, the poor and the rich. In the days when it was such a bore to raise a sovereign, he was poor. For nearly two years with an unlimited capital behind him, and about twenty thousand a year for his wife to spend, he had considered himself positively and fixedly among the rich. He had felt comfortable: he had had elbow room. Six thousand pounds puzzled him: it was neither one thing nor the other. A brilliant thought struck him. “Can you tell me, Mary,” he said gently, “some one who has got about six thousand? I think I could judge _then_.” “I can tell you one positively,” said Mary Smith. “Charlie Fitzgerald and his wife. Till the old Yid dies they’ve got six thousand exactly. I ought to know, considering that I went over every scrap of paper in order to make sure of Charlie repaying me.” “Oh!” said Demaine judicially. “Charlie Fitzgerald and his wife....” He thought for a long time. “Well, they’re pretty comfortable,” he said suddenly. “Of course they haven’t got a place and grounds; I suppose if they had a place and grounds they couldn’t do it.” “No,” said Mary, “but the house in Westminster is very large when you get inside through the narrow part. When are you going into Westminster, Dimmy?” “I don’t know,” said Dimmy hopelessly. “Sudie’s got all muddled about it. She saw ‘City of Westminster’ stuck up on one of those khaki Dreadnought hats that the street sweepers wear, an’ the man was getting horrors into a cart right up by our house, an’ she said that where we _were_ was Westminster anyhow. And then when I argued with her she shoved me to the window and pointed out his hat. She was quite rough.” And George Mulross sighed. Mary Smith got testy. “Don’t talk rubbish,” she said, “and don’t bother me about your wife. Have you looked at anything in Westminster at all?” “I don’t know,” said Demaine humbly. “You must know,” said Mary sharply, and with a strong inclination to slap him. “Have you looked in Dean’s Yard, for instance?” “Yes,” said Demaine, slowly reviewing his perambulations of the last few days. “Yes, I’ve looked at Dean’s Yard. There’s nothing there.... All the rest seems to be so slummy, Mary.” “There are some exceedingly good new houses,” said Mary severely, “and everybody’s going there; and the old houses are perfectly delicious. Anyhow, Westminster’s the place; and I’ll tell you something else. You’ve got to take office!” George Mulross, worried as he always was when she began drilling him, on hearing the word “office” said simply: “Well I won’t, that’s flat. I don’t believe in it. I’ve seen lots of men do that kind of thing. They get to the City and they think they’re learning business, and they’re rooked before....” “I said ‘TAKE office’!” shouted Mary Smith, “TAKE office--get a post.... Dolly will give you a post. Now do you understand?” “What?” said Demaine vaguely.