Curtiss.—I say fifty.
Mackesy.—I go twenty better.
Doone.—Bloated Crœsus 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 a man will come round to-morrow to collect it. So there will be no trouble.
Jervoise. (signing).—One hundred, E. M. J. There you are. 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 twenty. That'll give him a month clear at the Hills. Many thanks, you men. I'll send round the man to-morrow.
Curtiss.—You must engineer his taking the stuff, and of course you mustn't
Anthony.—Of course. It would never do. He'd weep with gratitude over his evening drink.
Blayne.—That's just what he would do, confound him. Oh! I say, Anthony, you pretend to know everything. Have you heard about Gaddy?
Anthony.—No. Divorce Court at last?
Blayne.—Worse. He's engaged!
Anthony.—How much? He can't be!
Blayne.—He is. He's going to be married in a few weeks. Markyn told me at the Judge's this evening. It's settled.
Anthony.—You don't say so? Holy Moses! There'll be a shine in the tents of Kedar.
