I might send them copies," said Septimus.

"It's a good idea." Clem Sypher thrust his hat to the back of his head, and paced the room from the wash-stand past the dressing-table to the wardrobe and back again.
"Well, I'm hanged!" said he.
Septimus asked why.
"I thought I was a philanthropist," said Sypher, "but by the side of you I'm a vulture.

Has it not struck you that, if the big gun is what I think, any government on earth would give you what you like to ask for the specification ?" "Really?
Do you think they would give me a couple of hundred pounds ?" asked Septimus, thinking vaguely of Mordaunt Prince in Naples and his overdrawn banking account.

The anxiety of his expression was not lost on Sypher.
"Are you in need of a couple of hundred pounds ?" he asked.
"Until my dividends are due.

I've been speculating, and I'm afraid I haven't a head for business." "I'm afraid you haven't," grinned Sypher, leaning over the footrail of the bed.