"I am awfully done," said Spiffy. "I never went to bed at all last night. I got some information about Turkish certificates before I went to the Tompkinses; then I stayed there till past six, and had to come on here at ten to turn what I knew to account. However, go ahead; what is it in? Jones here will do it for you. No need of mystery between us. 'Cosmopolitan district' is the sort of thing I can conscientiously recommend--I'll tell you why: I went down to the lobby of the House last night on purpose to hear what the fellows were saying who prowl about there pushing what my wretched tailor would call 'a little bill' through Committee. It is becoming a sort of 'ring,' and the favourites last night were light Cosmopolitans." "What on earth are they as distinguished from heavy?" I asked. "Jones, show his lordship the stock-list," said Spiffy, with a swagger. The investigation of the "list" completely bewildered me. Why a £10 share should be worth £19, and a £100 share worth £99, 10s., in the same company, was not evident on the face of the document before me, so I looked into Spiffy's. "Puzzling, isn't it?" said Spiffy. "Very," I replied. "Now tell me," and I turned innocently towards Mr Jones, for Spiffy's expression was secretive and mysterious--"explain to me how it is that a share upon which only £10 has been paid, should be so much more valuable than one which has been fully paid up." "Ask the syndicate," said Jones, looking at Spiffy in a significant way. I felt quite startled, for I expected to see a group of foreigners composing this institution walk into the room. It was not until I had looked again to Spiffy for information, and was met by the single open eye of that gentleman, that I drew an inference and a very long breath. "Spiffy," I said, "I am getting stifled--the moral atmosphere of this place is tainted; take me to the sweetest board-room in the neighbourhood--I want to speak to you on private business." "Haven't time," said Spiffy, looking at his watch. "Not to settle little Lady Broadhem's little affair?" said I, in a whisper. Spiffy got uncommonly pale, but recovered himself in a second. "All right, old fellow;" and he poured a few hurried words in an incomprehensible dialect into Jones's ear, and led the way to the Suburban Washing-ground Company's board-room, which was the most minute apartment of the kind I had ever seen.