It was a large loose piece of white wrapping paper, which Mr Jasper
Drummond read with a vacant eye and undisguised astonishment. As
far as he could make out, it consisted of a series of questions and
answers, or at least of remarks and replies, arranged in the manner
of a catechism. The greater part of the document had been torn and
obliterated in the struggle, but the termination remained. It ran
as follows:
C. Says . . . Keep countenance.
W. Keep . . . British Museum.
C. Know whom talk . . . absurdities.
W. Never talk absurdities without
"What is it?" cried Drummond, flinging the paper down in a sort of
final fury.
"What is it?" replied Grant, his voice rising into a kind of
splendid chant. "What is it? It is a great new profession. A great
new trade. A trifle immoral, I admit, but still great, like
piracy."
"A new profession!" said the young man with the red moustache
vaguely; "a new trade!"
"A new trade," repeated Grant, with a strange exultation, "a new
profession! What a pity it is immoral."
"But what the deuce is it?" cried Drummond and I in a breath of
blasphemy.
"It is," said Grant calmly, "the great new trade of the Organizer
of Repartee. This fat old gentleman lying on the ground strikes
you, as I have no doubt, as very stupid and very rich.
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