“Why, you can run up a bill with me!” quickly proffered Mr. Dobb.
“That ain’t my idea, starting married life in debt.”
“Well, I—I might give you a few things as a wedding present. Jugs and so on.”
“Mind you, I wouldn’t mind taking up with her,” said Mr. Lock. “Looie-Miss Radling—she’s just my sort, and I don’t mind admitting that I’ve thought a lot about her since I met her yesterday. But—”
“And—and to think that you was a ’ardy British mariner once!” urgently cried Mr. Dobb. “You go in and win!”
“I reckon it’ll cost me all of fifty quid to set up a home,” said Mr. Lock, gazing squarely at Mr. Dobb. For a long time Mr. Dobb defiantly held Mr. Lock’s regard, and then he glanced away.
“And, after all,” added Mr. Lock, softly, “it’ll come cheaper for you, ’Orace.”
“I see what you’re after!” rasped Mr. Dobb. “Call that friendship?”
“No,” said Mr. Lock, honestly, “I don’t! I’m a sort of pupil of yours, ’Orace, and I calls it ‘strictly business’! However, we were only talking, after all. Good-night, old sport, and sleep well!”
Two days elapsed. Mr. Dobb, attaining sufficient convalescence, had left his couch and spent most of his time behind his window curtain, watching the traffic of the street in considerable trepidation. And whenever the shop-bell jangled Mr. Dobb crept silently to the head of the stairs and stood there to listen with bated breath till persuaded that there was no cause for alarm.