"No. I must."
"To whom will you give it?"
"I don't know. Not to you."
"Why not?"
"You're not fit for it."
He took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead.
"I was no more fit for it yesterday," he said.
"I won't argue it."
"As you please, sire," said he with a shrug, and he seemed to pull himself together. He rose and stood before me with a smile on his lips.
I sat down, took a piece of paper, wrote a draft, leaving the amount unstated, and pushed it across to him. He looked down at it in wonder. Then his face lit up with eagerness.