“And if I was you,” he announced, bitterly, “I should swaller the rest of that there seegar! You won’t lose none of it, then. And, besides, it can’t taste worse than it smells!”
Mr. Dobb, in no wise irritated by this little ebullience of feeling, smiled up pleasantly at his visitor.
“What’s your ’urry?” asked Horace. “Come and sit down again! We ’aven’t finished ’alf our chat yet.”
With marked readiness Mr. Tridge returned to his chair, contritely murmuring an apology for his impoliteness.
“That’s all right,” said Horace, handsomely. “Seegars is never quite right when other chaps is smoking ’em. I’ve noticed that myself. Now, let me see, what were we talking about?”
“About me starting in a little ’air-dressing business of me own,” replied Mr. Tridge, leaning forward eagerly.
“No, we wasn’t talking about that,” corrected Mr. Dobb. “You was.”
“I’ve figgered it all out,” continued Mr. Tridge, undeterred, “and for twenty quid I could get going. And I’d pay you your money back in instalments, and pay you interest at the rate of—”
“I shan’t take no hinterest from you, Joe,” observed Mr. Dobb, with a kindly smile, “and I shan’t take no hinstalments neither. In fact, I shan’t want no money back from you at all!”
“Well, if ever there was a true pal—” gabbled Mr. Tridge, with the liveliest gratitude. “I always knew it! If ever there was a real friend in need—”