"Warm as a toast. Sit down. Take off your coat."
"Oh! I should be lost without it. You must have a fire inside you. So-so it's gone through?"
Old Heythorp nodded; and Joe Pillin, wandering like a spirit, scrutinised the shut door. He came back to the table, and said in a low voice:
"Have you signed the deed poll?"
Producing a parchment from his pocket Joe Pillin unfolded it with caution to disclose his signature, and said:
"I don't like it--it's irrevocable."
A chuckle escaped old Heythorp.
Joe Pillin's voice passed up into the treble clef.