"Done 'em?" asked Linton.

"Not yet; no," replied Jackson. "More tea, please."

"What you want to do, then," said Linton, "is to apply to the Locksley
Lines Supplying Trust. That's what you must do."

"You needn't rot a chap on a painful subject," protested Jackson.

"I wasn't rotting," said Linton. "Why don't you apply to the Lines
Trust?"

"Then do you mean to say that there really is such a thing?" Jackson
said incredulously. "Why I thought it was all a rag."

"I know you did. It's the rotten sort of thing you would think. Rag,
by Jove! Look at this. Now do you understand that this is a genuine
concern?"

He got up and went to the cupboard which filled the space between the
stove and the bookshelf. From this resting-place he extracted a great
pile of manuscript and dumped it down on the table with a bang which
caused a good deal of Jackson's tea to spring from its native cup on
to its owner's trousers.

"When you've finished," protested Jackson, mopping himself with a
handkerchief that had seen better days.

"Sorry. But look at these. What did you say your impot was? Oh, I
remember. Here you are. Two pages of 'Quatre-Vingt Treize.' I don't