Tomlin examined them carefully, nodding his big head, getting redder than usual as he bent down. James had removed one cover. "They’re a bit of all right," pronounced Tomlin. Quinney led the way upstairs into the sanctuary. Posy was there, cleaning some beautiful glass lustres. Her father addressed her snappishly: "Look ye here, young woman, I don’t want you nosin’ about downstairs. See?" Posy tossed her head, furious with her father because he rebuked her before Tomlin. She replied coldly: "I thought I could go where I liked in our own house." "It’s my house. See? You run along to mother like a good girl." With immense dignity Posy moved to the door. If she wanted to impress upon her father that she was now a woman grown, she succeeded admirably. As the door closed behind her, Tomlin said: "Bit short with her, wasn’t you?" "Do her good. I won’t have no _tête-à-têtin’_ between her and James Miggott." *I* They sat down. Quinney pushed a box of cigars across his desk. It annoyed him slightly that Tomlin selected one with unflattering suspicion, smelling it, and putting it to his ear. "It’s all right, Tom: I only smoke the best in this room." Tomlin lit the cigar, inhaled the smoke, and nodded approvingly: "Must admit, Joe, that you know a bit about most things. Come on surprisingly, you have." At this Quinney smiled complacently. Tomlin continued, eyeing his companion shrewdly and genially: "I’ve a proposition to lay before you, Joe." "Go ahead." Tomlin rose, walked to the door, and opened it. He closed it softly and came back. "Whatever are you up to, old man?" Tomlin grinned. "My women," he remarked pensively, "listen at doors." Quinney exploded. "And you dare to think that——?" "Tch! Tch! Nothing like making cocksure. What I have to say is not for other ears. Now, ain’t it a pity that we haven’t eight o’ them Chippendale chairs on which we could fit them eight fine covers?" "Pity? It’s a sinful shame." "Almost a dooty we owe to society to turn them four into eight?" "Hey?" "James could do it." "Are you mad, Tom? We know what James can do. I ain’t denyin’ that he’s a wonder, but he can’t copy them chairs so that you and I, not to mention the rest of ’em, wouldn’t know the difference if the new four was shoved alongside o’ the old four." "Right!" "Then what the ’ell are you at?" Sinking his voice to a hoarse whisper, and leaning forward across the desk, the great Tomlin unfolded his scheme. "I propose this," he said deliberately. "James can make eight chairs out of them four by breaking up the four, half and half, half of the old in each." "Um!" said Quinney. "If the worst came to the worst," continued Tomlin, "if any of ’em did drop on to the fact that the set of eight had been very considerably restored, what of it?" "Um!" repeated Quinney.