“'Home of my fathers, how my bosom throbs!' What's the next line? 'Home of my fathers, through my heart there runs!' That's it,—'there runs'—runs. I forget how it goes, but I suppose it must rhyme to 'duns.'”
“Now, try and be reasonable for a couple of minutes,” said Tony. “I scarcely am known to Mrs. Maxwell at all. I don't mean to stop here; I intend to go back to-night What are your movements?”
“Let the Fates decide; that is to say, I'll toss up,—heads, and I am to have the estate, and therefore remain; tails,—I'm disinherited, and go back with you.”
“I want you to be serious, Skeffy.”
“Very kind of you, when I've only got fourteen days' leave, and three of them gone already.”
“I 'd rather you 'd return with me; but I 'd not like you to risk your future to please me.”
“Has jealousy no share in this? Be frank and open: 'Crede Darner' is our proud motto; and by Jove, if certain tailors and bootmakers did not accept it, it would be an evil day for your humble servant!”
“I don't understand you,” said Tony, gravely.
“You fear I 'll make love to 'your widow,' Tony. Don't get so red, old fellow, nor look as if you wanted to throw me into the fish-pond.”
“I had half a mind to do it,” muttered Tony, in something between jest and earnest.