“My good fellow,” returned Freddy with a slight tone of annoyance, “I'm as fond of a joke as any man, but when I tell you that I am foolish enough to take this matter somewhat deeply to heart—that if Lucy is forced to marry the brute, she'll be wretched for life, and I shall not be much otherwise—I think you'll choose some other subject for your mirth.”
“Why, Freddy, old boy, you don't suppose I'm poking fun at you, do you? Why, I would not do such a thing at any price—no! 'pon my honour, I'm as serious as a judge, I am indeed; but the best way will be to tell you my plan at once, and then you'll see the logic of the thing. In the first place, your governor says that Lucy is to marry the drysalter, because he's the best offer she's ever likely to have, doesn't he?”
“Yes, that's right enough, so far,” replied Freddy.
“What's the drysalter worth? whereabouts is the figure?”
“Two thousand a year, they say,” returned Freddy with a sigh.
“And I shall come into nearer five, in a month's time,” returned Lawless; “got the whip hand of him there, and no mistake.”
“You!” exclaimed Coleman, astonished.
“Eh, yes! I, my own self—the Honourable George Lawless at your service, age five and twenty—height five feet nine—rides under ten stone—sound wind and limb—five thousand per annum, clear income and a peerage in perspective—ain't that better than a drysalter, eh?”
“Why, Lawless, you are gone stark staring mad,” interrupted I; “what on earth has all that got to do with Freddy and his cousin?”
“Don't stop him,” cried Coleman, “I begin to see what he is aiming at.”