"Come back, you jade!" roared Old Flick, looking disgustedly at his burden. "Come back, and I'll give you what you want."
"How much now?" asked Milly, with a laugh, standing by the half-open door.
Old Flick fumbled in his pockets, and, with much difficulty, produced three half-crowns.
"Seven-and-six," he said.
"Baby will cost you more than that the first week," said Milly. "Then, how am I to live? 'Tain't half enough.
"I haven't another shilling in the world!" cried Old Flick, tearing at his gray locks in a delirium of drunken despair. "You'll ruin me, you jade!"
"Say two pounds," suggested Milly, regardless of his appeal; "and out with it quick, or I'm off. Now, then, before I count three. One--"
"Milly, dear, say a pound," implored Old Flick.
"Two--"
"Thirty bob!" screamed Old Flick, in anguish.