“Like that, eh? Well, I suppose I must take your word, Bulmore, and risk it. For your sake I hope he doesn’t let us down, that’s all. What’s he like, now—is he funny?” Bulmore stretched his imagination to the fullest. “You should just hear them shriek at him.” “And about terms? Would he take a bit less?” “That’s the one difficulty, old man. I mentioned what you’d said, but he held out that thirty-five guineas was the lowest he’d accept.” “Well, it’s the highest we’d pay. Tell him that.” “Well, we’ll let it go at thirty-five, and if you’ve a sheet of paper handy I’ll sign an acceptance form on his behalf.” Sefton Bulmore’s cherrywood cane, which he spun in his hand as he went whistling down the street, was a peril to the neighbourhood. He did not allow himself to be oppressed in the smallest degree that he had turned over to his friend a sum of money of which he was in great personal need. He felt himself amply repaid by having brought the interview to so successful a conclusion. Great is the balm descending upon him that giveth. Without losing any time he hastened to inform his old colleague of the news, and with truly dramatic sense did not dull the point by approaching it too directly. He found Eliphalet Cardomay taking a modest luncheon, and sat down to join him without waiting for an invitation. “Doesn’t seem right to see you out of harness,” he began, his mouth well filled with cheese and pickles. “What’s more, I can’t believe it agrees with you.” “One feels the difference, of course,” Eliphalet confessed. “However, it is my own choice.” Bulmore took this statement as a piece of pardonable pride. “Still, I wonder you don’t do something as a fill-in. Now, there’s quite a decent income waiting to be picked up with the Cinema, y’know.” “The Cinema!” Eliphalet’s eyebrows arched disapprovingly. “That’s it. Growing concern, old man, getting a bigger hold on the public every day.” “The mushroom season is a short one,” commented Eliphalet drily. “Well, they both do best in the dark,” said Bulmore, with a laugh. “But the Cinema has come to stay, laddie, mark my words; and it’s up to you and me to have a dip in the pie.” Eliphalet Cardomay rose and assumed a position of importance by the fireplace. “It is up to you and me, and all those who treasure the traditions of our noble calling, to manifest our disapproval of this mechanical device for—what shall I say?—for potting our artistry, by leaving it severely alone.” Bulmore, who was expecting his old friend to embrace the opportunity he had come to offer, was wholly unprepared for so hostile an attitude. He kicked himself, metaphorically, for introducing the subject in this roundabout way instead of walking straight up and saying, “You’re broke, old man; here’s a job for you.” But having chosen his means he had no other course but to continue on the lines of his beginning.