Nodding yet more vigorously still, Jack Lett said: “Sure thing, Captain – I knew you’d be interested,” and then, as Charles Bannister turned to the side table, he went on: “I thought of a crackerjack advertising slogan. For that breakfast food – can’t remember which one it is. Say to the kids: ‘You are lucky – Esther Costello cannot hear it go snap, crackle, pop.’ Don’t see why they shouldn’t buy it … Here’s something else again.”

Charles Bannister turned with the drink in his hand, wondering what more could be coming. He saw that Jack Lett was now nursing a doll.

“The Esther Costello Doll,” he explained with pride. “The eyes open …” He tipped the doll, and pointed. The eyeballs had been painted white. “The mouth moves …” He squeezed the neck, and the doll’s lips moved – soundlessly. “There’s nothing to the ears,” he said regretfully. “But the rest is authentic. The hair is nylon. The kids will be wild for this one.” He took the proffered glass. “Here’s to the future. We could certainly make it a bright one.”

As he drank, Charles Bannister’s only thought was: Belle isn’t going to like this at all. But it was not a consideration that had a great deal of weight by now.

It was very much later when Jack Lett took his leave: much later, and much farther on. Between them, they had come to a provisional agreement. Lett was to use Esther’s name on various products and toys, all of which had to be approved by Charles Bannister. “Preserve dignity,” said the latter, by now somewhat drunk as well as inspired. “Very important …” There would be a royalty on each article produced. The use of her name would be exclusive to Jack Lett. Advertising would be tied up with their tours and lectures. The range of products could be widened limitlessly anything from children’s hot water bottles to Esther Costello shoes – ‘Walk with confidence’ – ‘No false steps’ – their ideas poured out, matching the whisky. They were in the mood in which victories are plotted, empires built, presidents nominated, Africa carved up. But Jack Lett’s best idea came towards the end.

“We want to get the kids really organized,” he said dreamily. He had mellowed somewhat during the long session: he now sounded like a benevolent uncle planning a birthday for them both. “Form a nationwide club – the Esther Costello Junior Club – something like that. Get them to collect money, help at the meetings. Dress them up. Like Hopalong Cassidy.” His eyes brightened. “Sell them a uniform – Irish type – an apron with a shamrock, a green hat: the Esther Costello outfit. Like Hopalong Cassidy.”

Charles Bannister started to speak, and Jack Lett raised his hand. “You don’t have to worry,” he said. “We’ll keep it dignified.”

“I was going to say,” said Charles Bannister, “that I just thought of a good name for them.” He raised a portentous finger, emphasizing the punchline. “Not Hopalong – Tapalong. Because she’s blind. The Tapalongs.” He began to improvise, feeling articulate and brilliant. “The children all start as Junior Tapalongs. Then they collect money, or fill in a card with stamps, or enrol a lot of members, and they get to be Senior Tapalongs, or Grand Tapalongs, or something.”