"Mostly to him," Christopher answered. "But about seven hundred to Dicky Swipes, of Cullercoats."
"Good God! Why to him?" Mark ejaculated.
"Oh, because he was Swipes, of Cullercoats," Christopher said, "and asked for it. He'd have had more, only that was enough for him to drink himself to death on."
Mark said:
"I suppose you don't give money to every fellow that asks for it?"
Christopher said:
"I do. It's a matter of principle."
"It's lucky," Mark said, "that a lot of fellows don't know that. You wouldn't have much brass left for long."
"I didn't have it for long," Christopher said.
"You know," Mark said, "you couldn't expect to do the princely patron on a youngest son's portion. It's a matter of taste. I never gave a ha'penny to a beggar myself. But a lot of the Tietjens were princely. One generation to addle brass: one to keep: one to spend. That's all right. . . . I suppose Macmaster's wife is your mistress? That'll account for it not being the girl. They keep an arm-chair for you."