His mother’s burning eyes met his. “That’s just what I’ve been thinking,” she piped calmly. Her son’s gaze dropped. “Since when?” “Since you began grumbling about him, last week but one, my pet.” “He’s no use now,” Ilam grumbled. “We’ve carried out all his ideas, and it’s simply a matter of business, and Carpentaria doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘business.’ Just think of his argument about those ads.!” “Never mind that, Jos,” Mrs. Ilam put in. “He’s only in the way now,” Jos proceeded gloomily. “I suppose he wouldn’t retire,” Mrs. Ilam suggested. “Retire? Of course he wouldn’t retire--nothing would induce him to retire. He enjoys it--he enjoys annoying me.” “Anyway,” said the mother, “you’ll have the satisfaction of a very great success.” She looked out of the window at the gardens. “Yes,” growled Ilam. “And he gets half the profits. I’ve found all the money, and he hasn’t found a cent. But he gets half the profits. What for? A few ideas--nothing else. He pretends to direct, but he’ll direct nothing except his blessed band. And I reckon we shall clear a profit of ten thousand a week! Half of ten is five.” “He only gets half the profits as long as he lives, Jos,” said Mrs. Ilam. “After that--nothing.” “Nothing,” agreed Jos, biting cruelly into a hot scone. “But as long as he lives he’s costing me, say, five thousand a week, besides worry.” “He mayn’t live long,” Mrs. Ilam ventured. “No, but he may live fifty-years.” “Supposing he died very suddenly, Jos,” Mrs. Ilam pursued calmly; “he wouldn’t be the first person that was inconvenient to you who had disappeared unexpectedly.” “Mother!” Ilam almost shouted, starting up. “But would he?” Mrs. Ilam persisted. “No, he wouldn’t,” muttered Josephus, and his voice trembled. Mrs. Ilam blew out the spirit-lamp under the kettle as though she was blowing out Carpentaria. “I’m off,” said Josephus nervously. “Wait a moment, child. Ring the bell for me.” A servant entered. “Bring me your master’s knitted waistcoat,” said Mrs. Ilam. “But, mother, I shan’t want it.” “Yes, you will, Jos. There’s no month more treacherous than May. You’ll put it on to please me.” He obeyed, bent down to kiss his terrible parent, and departed. “Think it over,” she called out after him. Ilam stopped. “And then, what about his sister?” he said. “Don’t mix up two quite separate things,” Mrs. Ilam responded. “Besides, she isn’t his sister.” CHAPTER V--The Band