“Not so good and not so bad,” Mr. Waddington admitted.  “We’ve got over that boom that started at first when people didn’t understand things.  They seem to regard me now with a mixture of suspicion and contempt.  All the same, we get a good many outside buyers in, and we’ve pulled along all right up till now.  It’s been the best few months of my life,” Mr. Waddington continued, “by a long way, but I’m getting scared, and that’s a fact.”

“How many beans have you left?” Burton inquired.

“Four,” Mr. Waddington replied.  “What I shall do when they’ve gone I can’t imagine.”

Burton held his head for a moment a little wearily.

“There are times,” he confessed, “especially when one’s sort of between the two things like this, when I can’t see my way ahead at all.  Do you know that last night the man with whom I have been staying—­a man of education too, who has been a professor at Oxford University,—­and another, a more commercial sort of Johnny, offered me a third partnership in a great enterprise for putting on the market a new mental health-food, if I would give them one of the beans for analysis.  They were convinced that we should make millions.”

Mr. Waddington was evidently struck with the idea.

“It’s a great scheme,” he said hesitatingly.  “I suppose last night it occurred to you that it was just a trifle—­eh?—­just a trifle vulgar?” he asked tentatively.

Burton assented gloomily.

“Last night,” he declared, “it seemed to me like a crime.  It made me shiver all over while they talked of it.  To-day, well, I’m half glad and I’m half sorry that they’re not here.  If they walked into this office now I’d swallow a bean as quickly as I could, but I tell you frankly, Mr. Waddington, that at the present moment it seems entirely reasonable to me.  Money, after all, is worth having, isn’t it?—­a nice comfortable sum so that one could sit back and just have a good time.  Don’t stare at me like that.  Of course, I’m half ashamed of what I’m saying.  There’s the other part pulling and tugging away all the time makes me feel inclined to kick myself, but I can’t help it.  I know that these half formed ideas of enjoyment by means of wealth are only degrading, that one would sink—­oh, hang it all, Mr. Waddington, what a mess it all is!”

Mr. Waddington pulled down his desk.

“We must go through with it, Burton,” he said firmly.  “You’re more advanced than I am in this thing, I can see.  You’ll need your bean quickly.  I believe I can hold off till after the sale.  But—­I’ve a curious sort of temptation at the present moment, Burton.  Shall I tell you what it is?”

“Go ahead,” Burton answered gloomily.

Mr. Waddington slapped his trousers pocket.

“Before we do another thing,” he suggested, “let’s go round to the Golden Lion and have just one bottle of beer—­just to feel what it’s like, eh?”

Burton sprang up.