"Which business?"

"Well, at the moment I referred to your situation in the Gin Palace of
Art--"

"I can't chuck it just yet. There's my father, you see. It would spoil
all his pleasure in that new plate-glass and mahogany devilry. He's
excited about it; wants to make it a big thing--"

"So he puts a big man into it?"

"Oh, well, I must see him started."

He spoke simply, as of a thing self-evident and indisputable. Jewdwine
admired.

"You're quite right. You _are_ handicapped. Heavily handicapped. So,
for Goodness' sake, don't weight yourself any more. If you can't drop
the Gin Palace, drop Miss Poppy Grace."

"Poppy Grace? She weighs about as much as a feather."

"Drop her, drop her, all the same."

"I can't. She wouldn't drop. She'd float."

"Don't float with her."

As he rose he spoke slowly and impressively. "What you've got to do
is to pull yourself together. You can't afford to be dissolute, or