"
Burton laughed softly. The humor of the auctioneer's position appealed
to him immensely.
"I am making money fast," Mr. Waddington admitted, without enthusiasm.
"Another year or two of this and I could retire comfortably."
"Then what," Burton asked, "is the worry?"
Mr. Waddington smoked vigorously for a moment. "Has it ever occurred
to you, Burton," he inquired, "to ask yourself whether this peculiar
state, in which you and I find ourselves, may be wholly permanent?"
Burton was genuinely startled. He sat looking at his visitor like one
turned to stone. The prospect called up by that simple question was
appalling. His cigarette burned idly away between his fingers. The
shadow of fear lurked in his eyes.
"Not permanent?" he repeated. "I never thought of that. Why do you
ask?"
Mr. Waddington scratched his chin thoughtfully. It was not a graceful
proceeding, and Burton, with a sinking heart, remembered that this was
one of his employer's old habits. He scrutinized his visitor more
closely. Although his appearance at first sight was immaculate, there
were certain alarming symptoms to be noted. His linen collar was
certainly doing service for the second time, and Burton noticed with
dismay a slight revival of the auctioneer's taste for loud colors in his
shirt and socks.
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