“Hullo, Tom, so there you are! I’ve just come from the mess. I’ve told them to put the champagne in ice for to-night.”
“For what?” asked Tom, with a vacant look.
“Why, man alive, you’ve got to stand it! What are you mooning about? Did you not get your company to-day?”
“Oh! of course; of course, to be sure,” assented Tom, eagerly.
“What are you about; aren’t you coming down to rackets?”
“No; it’s mail day,” protested Tom rather sheepishly.
“Bosh! Why, you know you never write a letter, you old humbug.”
“Well, any way, I’m going to write one now, so clear.”
“To our mutual tailor? Give him my kind regards, and tell him that he will be paid in the coming by-and-by, and meanwhile to send you a couple of new suits.”
“I don’t owe him a penny,” said Tom, biting the end of his pen. “I’ve cleared him off, thank goodness.”