"Let's hope so," said Beevor. "If you get into any difficulty, you
know," he added, with a touch of patronage, "just you come to me."

"Thanks," said Horace, "I will. But I'm getting on very fairly at
present."

"I should rather like to see what you've made of it. I might be able to
give you a wrinkle here and there."

"It's awfully good of you, but I think I'd rather you didn't see the
plans till they're quite finished," said Horace. The truth was that he
was perfectly aware that the other would not be in sympathy with his
ideas; and Horace, who had just been suffering from a cold fit of
depression about his work, rather shrank from any kind of criticism.

"Oh, just as you please!" said Beevor, a little stiffly; "you always
_were_ an obstinate beggar. I've had a certain amount of experience, you
know, in my poor little pottering way, and I thought I might possibly
have saved you a cropper or two. But if you think you can manage better
alone--only don't get bolted with by one of those architectural hobbies
of yours, that's all."

"All right, old fellow. I'll ride my hobby on the curb," said Horace,
laughing, as he went back to his own office, where he found that all his
former certainty and enjoyment of his work had returned to him, and by
the end of the day he had made so much progress that his designs needed
only a few finishing touches to be complete enough for his client's
inspection.

Better still, on returning to his rooms that evening to change before
going to Kensington, he found that the admirable Fakrash had kept his
promise--every chest, sack, and bale had been cleared away.

"Them camels come back for the things this afternoon, sir," said Mrs.
Rapkin, "and it put me in a fluster at first, for I made sure you'd
locked your door and took the key. But I must have been
mistook--leastways, them Arabs got in somehow. I hope you meant
everything to go back?"

"Quite," said Horace; "I saw the--the person who sent them this morning,
and told him there was nothing I cared for enough to keep."

"And like his impidence sending you a lot o' rubbish like that on
approval--and on camels, too!" declared Mrs. Rapkin. "I'm sure I don't
know what them advertising firms will try next--pushing, _I_ call it."

Now that everything was gone, Horace felt a little natural regret and
doubt whether he need have been quite so uncompromising in his refusal
of the treasures. "I might have kept some of those tissues and things