And I know he has nothing
more than a wet-weather tummy if he could only keep a hand on himself.
Blayne. That's bad. That's very bad. Poor little Miggy. Good little chap, too.
I say--
Anthony. What do you say?
Blayne. Well, look here--anyhow. If it's like that--as you say--I say fifty.
Curtiss. I say fifty.
Mackesy. I go twenty better.
Doone. Bloated Croesus of the Bar! I say fifty. Jervoise, what do you say? Hi!
Wake up!
Jervoise. Eh? What's that? What's that?
Curtiss. We want a hundred rupees from you. You're a bachelor drawing a
gigantic income, and there's a man in a hole.
Jervoise. What man? Any one dead?
Blayne. No, but he'll die if you don't--give the hundred. Here! Here's a peg-
voucher. You can see what we've signed for, and Anthony's man will come round
tomorrow to collect it. So there will be no trouble.
Jervoise. (Signing.) One hundred, E. M. J. There you are (feebly). It isn't one
of your jokes, is it?
Blayne. No, it really is wanted. Anthony, you were the biggest poker-winner
last week, and you've defrauded the tax-collector too long. Sign!
Anthony. Let's see. Three fifties and a seventy-two twenty-three twenty--say
four hundred and twenty. That'll give him a month clear at the Hills.
Pages:
1155
1156
1157
1158
1159
1160
1161
1162
1163
1164
1165
1166
1167
1168
1169
1170
1171
1172
1173
1174
1175
1176
1177
1178
1179