"At three-halfpence each," he mused, and set down the figures, "that will bring in thirty shillings. Say it brings in only twenty-eight shillings, and make the total charges one pound four, and there remains a clear profit of four shillings for the year. Then the fowl itself, supposing I sell it at the end of the year, is worth at least a shilling. A profit of five shillings on one hen. On twenty, a profit of five pounds; on a hundred, a profit of twenty-five pounds; on a thousand, a profit of two hundred and fifty pounds." The figures almost took his breath away. Let it be understood that Timothy's reflections and calculations are here pretty accurately reported. He continued. So large a number of eggs would have to be sold wholesale, and three-halfpence each could not be reckoned upon, but then the rent would be much less, and the cost of food much less; and there were other ideas floating in his mind which he could not formulate, and about which there was no cause for his troubling himself just at present. "Mr. Loveday," said he to his employer, "if a speculation is entered into in a small way and leaves a small profit, would it not leave a larger profit if entered into in a large way?" "That," replied Mr. Loveday, "stands to reason. What is your head running on, Timothy?" "Eggs, sir," said Timothy. Mr. Loveday stared at him for a few moments without speaking. "That is what you have been studying books on poultry for?" he said, presently. "Yes, sir." "Well," said Mr. Loveday, after another pause, "there's something in eggs, I dare say. Some of the peasantry in France make quite an income out of them; our own poor country-folk are not so far-seeing." "What can be done in France," said Timothy, patriotically and sententiously, "can be done in England." "Don't be too certain of that," said Mr. Loveday. "They grow grapes in France and make wine. We don't." "That is a matter of climate," remarked Timothy. "Fowls lay eggs in every country in the world, and once laid, there they are." "To be sure," said Mr. Loveday, staring at his assistant, "there they are." "Anyhow," said Timothy, "nothing can alter that what will pay in a small way ought to pay in a large; can it, sir?" "The conclusion appears sensible and reasonable. I suppose you have made something out of your fowl?" "Nearly two shillings in the month, sir." "Not at all bad," said Mr. Loveday, "not at all bad. You must take the breed into account." "Black Hamburgs, sir, that's the breed for eggs." "Dorkings, I should say," suggested Mr. Loveday. "Black Hamburgs will beat them, sir," said Timothy, confidently; and Mr. Loveday, feeling that he was on unsafe ground, wisely held his tongue. Timothy had saved between five and six shillings out of his wages, and he expended the whole of his savings in putting up a rough fowl-house, and in the addition of a black Hamburg to his live-stock. He began to feel like a proprietor.