"How much?"
"A thousand wouldn't be any too much."
"Enough?"
"Well, perhaps not enough," the professor nerved himself to admit.
"I'll give you two, now. Give you the rest when you get--when you get It
here."
"You move me, I confess," conceded the professor. "I will undertake it."
"How long will it be, do you think?"
"I shall give orders by cable. A month, possibly, if all goes well."
"I'll give you check." He gulped at that. It was the first time he had
ever used the words.
The Countess parted the curtains. Curiously enough she carried a pen and
ink, though no one remarked upon the circumstance.
Bean had that morning left a carefully written signature at the bank
where his draft had been deposited. He later wondered how the scrawl he
achieved now could ever be identified as by the same hand.
And he was conscious, even as he wrote, that the Countess Casanova and
Professor Balthasar were labouring under an excitement equal to his own.
It _was_ a big feat to attempt.
As before, they waited until he had closed the lower door.
"Oh, Ed!" breathed the Countess emotionally.
"Anything loose in the house?" asked the professor.
"They's a couple bottles beer in the icebox, but _Oh, Ed_!"
VI
Again we chant pregnant phrases from the Bard of Dress: "It is cut to
give the wearer the appearance of perfect physical development. And the
effect produced so improves his form that he unconsciously strives to
attain the appearance which the garment gives him; he expands his chest,
draws in his waist, and stands erect.
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