Probably George had imbibed as freely as Busby, but to all appearances the cashier had surrendered himself unreservedly to the strength of what he had taken. In this mood he was inclined to refer to the subject of Gray's legacy, which he did at intervals, and at which times George, with his usual skill, let his own tongue run loose within bounds.
"You're a close dog," said Busby, at length, "nearly as close as Gray himself."
"What!" said George in astonishment. "You wouldn't have me tell——"
"Tell, be hanged!" said Busby. "He deserves it, doesn't he? Isn't he an outsider? Doesn't everybody know he is? Why, I'd tell anything about a man like that. Everybody knows he's a mean——"
"Ssh!" said George, looking behind him. "Don't shout; somebody'll hear you."
"What does it marrer? Let 'em hear. Everybody knows he's mean."
"Ssh!" said George again.
"Ssh! yourself," said Busby, giving him a playful punch. "Let 'em hear, I say. What does it marrer? What does——"
He stopped suddenly, and caught George by the arm. They looked each other steadily in the eye, and then Busby burst into a wild, silly laugh.
"It's no good, Georgie. It's no good, old man. You've done it—you've given him away. You've fairly given him away; now, haven't you? That's the secret—I've got it!"