“Confound figures! I wish they never were invented. If one only thinks of all the hearty fellows they 've set by the ears, the close friendships they have severed, the strong attachments they have broken, I declare one would be justified in saying it was the devil himself invented arithmetic.”
“I wish he 'd have made it easier when he was about it,” said Heathcote.
“Excellent, by Jove!—how good! 'Made it easier'—capital!” cried O'Shea, laughing with a boisterous jollity that made the room ring. “I hope I 'll not forget that. I must book that mot of yours.”
Heathcote grew crimson with shame, and, in an angry impulse, pitched his cigar into the fire.
“That's right,” broke in O'Shea; “these are far better smoking than your cheroots; these are Hudson's 'Grand Viziers,' made especially for Abba Pasha's own smoking.”
Heathcote declined coldly, and continued his search through his note-book.
“It was odd enough,” said O'Shea, “just as you came in I was balancing in my own mind whether I 'd go over to the Villa, or write to you.”
“Write to me!” said the other, reddening.
“Don't be scared; it was not to dun you. No; I was meditating whether it was quite fair of me to take that trap and the nags. You like that sort of thing; it suits you too. Now, I 'm sobering down into the period of Park phaetons and George the Fourths: a low step to get in, and a deep, well-cushioned seat, with plenty of leg room; that's more my style. As Holditch says, 'The O'Shea wants an armchair upon C springs and Collinge's patent' Free and easy that, from a rascally coachmaker, eh?”
“I don't want the horses. I have no use for them. I 'm not quite clear whether you valued the whole thing at two hundred and fifty or three hundred and fifty?”