“Well, it’s something to admit that,” he sneered.  “At any rate, we know where we are.  Let’s have a look at the horrid mess.”

He made a number of curt observations as he handled the sheets of sketches.

“I see you’ve got that Saracenic touch in again.”

“What’s the scale here?”

“Is this really a town hall, or are you trying to beat the Temple at Karnak?”

“If that’s meant for an Ionic capital, no assessor would stand it.  It’s against all the textbooks to have Ionic capitals where there’s a side-view of them.  Not that it matters to me.”

“Have you made the slightest attempt to cube it up?  You’d never get out of this under half a million, you know.”

Shaking his head, he retired once more to the window.  George began to breathe more freely, as one who has fronted danger and still lives.  Mr. Enwright addressed the window: 

“It’s absolute folly to start on a thing like that before the conditions are out.  Absolute folly.  Have you done all that to-night?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you’ve shifted the stuff....  But you haven’t the slightest notion what accommodation they want.  You simply don’t know.”

“I know what accommodation they ought to want with four hundred thousand inhabitants,” George retorted pugnaciously.

“Is it four hundred thousand?” Mr. Enwright asked, with bland innocence.  He generally left statistics to his partner.

“Four hundred and twenty-five.”

“You’ve looked it up?”

“I have.”

Mr. Enwright was now at the desk yet again.

“There’s an idea to it,” he said shortly, holding up the principal sheet and blinking.

“I shall go in for it!” The thought swept through George’s brain like a fierce flare, lighting it up vividly to its darkest corners, and incidentally producing upon his skin phenomena similar to those produced by uncanny sounds on the staircase.  He had caught admiration and benevolence in Mr. Enwright’s voice.  He was intensely happy, encouraged, and proud.  He began to talk eagerly; he babbled, entrusting himself to Mr. Enwright’s benevolence.

“Of course there’s the Final.  If they give six months for the thing I could easily get through the Final before sending-in day.  I could take a room somewhere.  I shouldn’t really want any assistance—­clerk, I mean.  I could do it all myself....”  He ran on until Mr. Enwright stopped him.

“You could have a room here—­upstairs.”

“Could I?”

“But you would want some help.  And you needn’t think they’ll give six months, because they won’t.  They might give five.”

“That’s no good.”

“Why isn’t it any good?” snapped Mr. Enwright.  “You don’t suppose they’re going to issue the conditions just yet, do you?  Not a day before September, not a day.  And you can take it from me!”

“Oh!  Hurrah!”