BROOME. What things?
LEONARD. Well, shall we say—sketches, critical impressions, verses, even stories.
BROOME. Hardly work for a man is it?
MARY. Now—father!
LEONARD. Perhaps not. You see, Mr. Broome, you and I are at the opposite ends. Without offence, I hope, I referred to yours as a decaying industry. With me it’s the other way. They’re not ready for me.
BROOME. It don’t pay?
LEONARD. At present it can hardly be said to pay.
BROOME. Well, you can lend me a couple of sovereigns, anyhow?
MARY. } { Father!