MR.    SMEETH   IS   REASSURED	IOL
Smeeth's and lit the pair of them, without a word. Then,
after blowing a stream of smoke at Benenden, he said:
"How much?"
"Three shillings, for the two."
Mr. Golspie slapped down two half-crowns on the
counter. This was the tobacconist's opportunity.
"What about this big cement slump, gentlemen?" he
began. "Where's that going to land us—?"
'It's not going to land me anywhere/' said Mr.
Golspie. "Where's it going to land you?"
T. Benenden looked rather pained, and still nursed
the two shillings change in his hand. "Well, what I
mean is this. That's a big combine, isn't it? A year
ago, they were bang at the top, like nearly all the big
combines. All right. But what's happening now? A
slump. And why—?"
"I don't know, and 111 bet you don't know," said Mr.
Golspie heartily. Then he gave a short bellow of a laugh.
"Well, I'll be damned," he roared, "I've been puzzling
my head for the last five minutes wondering what was
wrong with you."
"Me?" T. Benenden was startled.
"Yes, you. Didn't you notice I was staring at you?"
He turned to Mr. Smeeth. "Couldn't make it out. I
knew there was something wrong. You see it, don't
you?" He now returned to Benenden, at whom he
pointed a thick brutal finger. "Why, man, you've for-
gotten to put your tie on. Have a look at yourself. I
knew there was something. Is that my change? That's
correct—two shillings."
Mr. Smeeth followed him out of the shop, gasping.
He had been visiting Benenden's shop two or three
times a week, year after year, and never once had he