“Of course,” replied Wilkins Flasher, Esquire. Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, entered it in a little book, with a gold pencil-case, and the other gentleman entered it also, in another little book with another gold pencil-case.
“I see there’s a notice up this morning about Boffer,” observed Mr. Simmery. “Poor devil, he’s expelled the house!”
“I’ll bet you ten guineas to five he cuts his throat,” said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire.
“Stop! I bar,” said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, thoughtfully. “Perhaps he may hang himself.”
“Very good,” rejoined Mr. Simmery, pulling out the gold pencil-case again.” I’ve no objection to take you that way. Say, makes away with himself.”
“Kills himself, in fact,” said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire.
“Just so,” replied Mr. Simmery, putting down. “‘Flasher—ten guineas to five, Boffer kills himself.’ Within what time shall we say?”
“A fortnight?” suggested Wilkins Flasher, Esquire.
“Confound it, no;” rejoined Mr. Simmery, stopping for an instant to smash a fly with the ruler. “Say a week.”
“Split the difference,” said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire. “Make it ten days.”