George walked sullenly on without replying, until Busby persuasively urged him not to take it to heart.
"You're too clever for me," said George.
"Never mind, old man, I won't cut you out if I can help it."
"Look here," said George, putting on his most serious air; "don't you go borrowing all his loose cash just because he's obliged to lend it. That won't be fair, you know. You must give me a chance."
Busby magnanimously promised that George should not be made to suffer more than he could help.
Elated with his success in one direction, he next began to hazard a guess at the prominent vice of Parrott, which resulted in George's imploring him to "draw it mild" for the sake of friendship. But, being started, it was no easy matter to stop a man like Busby. The only course for George Early to take was to dexterously swap the vices of Parrott and Gray, which he did with great success. When Busby hit upon the drink question, George was seized with a trembling fit, and Busby laughed again in triumph.
"I told you you were too clever for me," said George. "All I hope is that you won't over-do it."
Busby hilariously swore at his two absent confreres, and vowed to "tickle them up a bit," just to pay off old scores.
Having embraced his friend, he rolled into a cab, and trundled off to the suburbs.
"He's too clever for me," said George, facetiously, with a smile, as the cab rolled off—"they all are. But I dare say I shall pull through. Now for a small select hotel, and bed."