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CROME YELLOW

We'll print it on Uncle Henry’s press and sell it at twopence a copy.”

“Sixpence,” Denis protested. “It’ll be worth sixpence.”’

Anne shook her head. “T'wopence,” she repeated firmly. “Nobody will pay more than twopence.”

“And now there’s Jenny,” said Mr. Wimbush. “Jenny,” he said, raising his voice, ”what will you do?”

Denis thought of suggesting that she might draw caricatures at sixpence an execution, but decided it would be wiser to go on feigning ignorance of her talent. His mind reverted to the red notebook. Could it really be true that he looked like that?

“What will I do,” Jenny echoed, “what will I do?” She frowned thoughtfully for a moment; then her face brightened and she smiled. “When I was young,” she said, “I learnt to play the drums.”

“The drums?”

Jenny nodded, and, in proof of her assertion, agitated her knife and fork, like a pair of drumsticks, over her plate. “If there’s any opportunity of playing the drums . . .” she began.

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