“You didn’t tell him—­that they were genuine!” Burton gasped.

Mr. Waddington shook his head.

“No,” he admitted, “I did not go so far as that.  Still, it was almost as great a shock to me.  I felt a distinct impulse to tell him that they were.  A few days ago, such an idea would never have entered my head.  It would have been a sheer impossibility.”

“Anything else?”

Mr. Waddington hesitated.  He seemed to be feeling the shame of these avowals.

“This morning,” he confessed, “I passed the door of the Golden Lion on my way to the office.  For the first time since—­you know when—­I felt a desire—­a faint desire but still it was there—­to go in and chaff Milly and have a pint of beer in a tankard.  I didn’t go, of course, but I felt the impulse, nevertheless.”

Burton had turned very pale.

“This,” he exclaimed, “is terrible!  What have you done with the rest of the beans?”

“I have nine,” Mr. Waddington replied.  “I carry them in my waistcoat pocket.  I am perfectly convinced now that there is trouble ahead, for on my way up the stairs here I felt a strong inclination to tell you that I had lost them, in case you should want any.”

“It would be only fair,” Burton declared warmly, “to divide them.”  Mr. Waddington frowned.

“I see no reason for that at all,” he objected, feeling his waistcoat pocket.  “The beans are in my possession.”

“But if we are to revert to our former state of barbarism,” Burton urged, “let us at least do so together.”

“You are some time ahead of me,” Mr. Waddington pointed out.  “None of these warnings have come to you yet.  It may be something wrong with my disposition, or the way I have swallowed my bean.  Yours may be a permanent affair.”

Burton hesitated.  Then he threw himself into a chair and buried his face in his hands.

“My time is coming, too!” he confessed mournfully.  “I am in the same position.  Even while you were speaking just now, I felt a strong desire to deceive you, to invent some experience similar to your own.”

“Are you sure of that?” Mr. Waddington asked anxiously.

“Quite sure!” Burton groaned.

“Then we are both of us in it, and that’s a fact,” Mr. Waddington affirmed.

Burton looked up.

“About those beans?”

Mr. Waddington thought for some few moments.

“I shall keep five and give you four,” he decided.  “It is treating you very generously.  I am not obliged to give you any at all, you know.  I am doing it because I am good-natured and because we are in this thing together.  If the worst happens, you can come back to your old place in the firm.  I dare say we shall pull along somehow.”

Burton shuddered from head to foot.  He saw it all mapped out before him—­the miserable routine of dull, undignified work, the whole intolerable outlook of that daily life.  He covered his face with his hands to shut out the prospect.