much. What I mean is, bang go your little savings and all that sort of
thing; but, after all, you're making quite a good income, so why
worry?"

"I might have known you would miss the point," he said. "Can't you
understand the situation? This morning at breakfast Eunice got hold of
the paper first. 'Archie,' she said, 'didn't you tell me all your money
was in B. and O. P.?' 'Yes,' I said. 'Why?' 'Then we're ruined.' Now do
you see? If I had had time to think, I could have said that I had
another chunk in something else, but I had committed myself, I have
either got to tell her about those infernal Doughnuts, or else conceal
the fact that I had money coming in."

"Great Scot! What on earth are you going to do?"

"I can't think. We can struggle along in a sort of way, for it appears
that she has small private means of her own. The idea at present is
that we shall live on them. We're selling the car, and trying to get
out of the rest of our lease up at the flat, and then we're going to
look about for a cheaper place, probably down Chelsea way, so as to be
near my studio. What was that stuff I've been drinking? Ring for
another of the same, there's a good fellow. In fact, I think you had
better keep your finger permanently on the bell. I shall want all
they've got."

* * * * *

The spectacle of a fellow human being up to his neck in the consomme is
painful, of course, but there's certainly what the advertisements at
the top of magazine stories call a "tense human interest" about it, and