other and gathered like herbs of comfort for the lonely heart. . . .
George was whispering: "It's a fact, they never get any further than that."
"You mean any nearer, don't you?"
"I mean any forwarder."
They broke into suffocating giggles. They threw themselves on the lumpy couch, uttering explosive squeaks. But, though Finch giggled hysterically, his mind's eye was still peering down the pipe-hole, his soul burning to know what were the thoughts of the two below.
"Why didn't you tell me about them before? We might often have taken a squint down at them."
"There was nothing to it." George's face turned glum. "Now, look here, Finch, which are you most interested in, the orchestra or those two silly spoons in the kitchen?"
Finch returned, still grinning: "There's no earthly use in talking about an orchestra to me. I wouldn't be let go to town for practising or playing at places. There'd be a hell of a row if I proposed such a thing."
"No need for you to mention it. I've got it all arranged. You don't object to making five dollars every now and again, do you?"
Finch sat up and stared. "Would I get that much?"
"Certainly. Lilly, that's the leader's name, says we can easily get twenty-five dollars a night for playing at dances in restaurants. That's five each. Not bad, eh, for strumming a few hours? Now don't interrupt. It'll be the simplest thing in the world for us to work the thing. By bolting a bit of lunch, we can get in an hour's practice at noon. Sometimes we can do it after five o'clock by staying in town for the seven-thirty train. That's easy. Now, for the dances. You remember my aunt, Mrs. St. John, has been widowed lately."
Finch nodded.
"She's a favourite with your family, isn't she?"
Again he nodded with deep solemnity.
"Very well. My aunt was saying only yesterday that she would like me to spend a night with her once a week for company. She would be pleased if I were to bring
