ever sold!"

"What beats me," I said, "is how the papers got hold of it."

"Oh, I sent it to the papers," said Mrs. Archie, in an offhand way.

"I wonder who did the writing up," I said.

"They would do that in the office, wouldn't they?" said Mrs. Archie.

"I suppose they would," I said. "They are wonders at that sort of
thing."

I couldn't help wishing that Archie would enter into the spirit of the
thing a little more and perk up, instead of sitting there looking like
a codfish. The thing seemed to have stunned the poor chappie.

"After this, Archie," I said, "all you have to do is to sit in your
studio, while the police see that the waiting line of millionaires
doesn't straggle over the pavement. They'll fight----"

"What's that?" said Archie, starting as if someone had dug a red-hot
needle into his calf.

It was only a ring at the bell, followed by a voice asking if Mr.
Ferguson was at home.

"Probably an interviewer," said Mrs. Archie. "I suppose we shall get no
peace for a long time to come."