“Practically everything. It is one of my favourite hobbies.”

“Can you make soup?”

“Soup?”

“Soup,” said Mr. Mifflin firmly.

Jimmy raised his eyebrows.

“Does an architect make bricks?” he said. “I leave the rough, preliminary work to my corps of assistants. They make my soup.”

“You mustn’t think Jimmy’s one of your common cracksmen,” said Sutton. “He’s at the top of his profession. That’s how he made his money. I never did believe that legacy story.”

“Jimmy,” said Mr. Mifflin, “couldn’t crack a child’s money-box. 13 Jimmy couldn’t open a sardine-tin.” Jimmy shrugged his shoulders.

13

“What’ll you bet?” he said again. “Come on, Arthur; you’re earning a very good salary. What’ll you bet?”

“Make it a dinner for all present,” suggested Raikes, a canny person who believed in turning the wayside happenings of life, when possible, to his personal profit.

The suggestion was well received.

“All right,” said Mifflin. “How many of us are there? One, two, three, four. Loser buys a dinner for twelve.”

“A good dinner,” interpolated Raikes softly.

“A good dinner,” said Jimmy. “Very well. How long do you give me, Arthur?”

“How long do you want?”

“There ought to be a time limit,” said Raikes. “It seems to me that an expert like Jimmy ought to be able to manage it at short notice. Why not to-night? Nice, fine night. If Jimmy doesn’t crack a crib to-night, it’s up to him. That suit you, Jimmy?”

“Perfectly.”

Willett interposed. Willett had been endeavouring to drown his sorrows all the evening, and the fact was a little noticeable in his speech.

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