'Yes, I know. Now listen to me! This appears to come under the general head of emergencies. We're not quite in such bad shape as we were a month back. There's a little advertising revenue coming in. An----' 'Yes, I thought----' 'And you've certainly sunk enough in this old property--' 'No more than you, Hump----' 'Just wait, will you! I don't see but what we've got to stand back of you. Perhaps we'd better enter it as a loan from the business to you until I can think up a better excuse. Or no, I'll tell you--call it a salary advance. Well, something! I'll work it out. Never you mind now. And if you're going to stop at the bank and catch the three-eight you'll have to step along.' It would have interested a student of psychophysics, I think, to slip a clinical thermometer in under Henry's tongue as he sat, erect, staring, with nervously twitching hands and feet, on the three-eight train. 4 To Cicely's house Henry hurried after bolting a supper at Stanley's restaurant and managing to evade Humphrey's amused questions when he heard them. It was early, barely half-past seven. The Watt household had dinner (not supper) at seven. They would hardly be through. He couldn't help that. He had waited as long as he could. He rang the bell. The butler showed him in. He sat on the piano stool in the spacious, high-ceiled parlour, where he had waited so often before. To-night it looked like a strange room. He told himself that it was absurd to feel so nervous. He and Cicely understood each other well enough. She cared for him. She had said so, more than once. Of course, the little matter of facing Madame Watt... though, after all, what could she do? He tried to control the tingling of his nerves. 'I must relax,' he thought. With this object he moved over to the heavily upholstered sofa and settled himself on it; stretched out his legs; thrust his hands into his pockets. But there was an extraordinary pressure in his temples; a pounding. He snatched a hand from one pocket and felt hurriedly in another to see if the precious little box was there; the box with the magical name embossed on the cover, 'Weldings.' He reflected, exultantly, 'I never bought anything there before.' Then: 'She's a long time. They must be at the table still.' He sat up; listened. But the dining-room in the Dexter Smith place was far back behind the 'back parlour.' The walls were thick. There were heavy hangings and vast areas of soft carpet. You couldn't hear. 'Gee!' his thoughts raced on, 'think of owning all this! Wonder how people ever get so much money. Wonder how it would seem.' He caught himself twisting his neck nervously within his collar. And his hands were clenched; his toes, even, were drawn up tightly in his shoes. 'Gotta relax,' he told himself again. Then he felt for the little box. This time he transferred it to a trousers pocket; held it tight in his hand there.