"'As'e to pay for that breech-loader gun?" said Raffles, laughing softly as at some good joke. "Why, of course you have."
"My opinion is, Raffles, that that gun was rotten. It wasn't worth a sovereign. I don't believe it was ever fit to shoot with, now."
"Of course, now," said Raffles, with a sneer. "Now, when you've got to pay for it."
"I don't know so much about 'have got to pay for it' at all. That grin of yours doesn't improve your looks, Raffles," said Jack, who was rather nettled by Raffles' sneer.
"Well, my bantam cock," said Raffles, savagely, "I only 'opes as this 'ere bill won't spoil yours. And let me tell you, young shaver, I want the money."
Jack calmly took the piece of note-paper which Raffles hurriedly fished out of his pocket, and flourished dramatically before Bourne. There was a touching simplicity about Raffles' bill-making that would in ordinary times have made Jack split with laughter, but, naturally, at the present time he did not feel in a very jovial frame of mind. Hence he read through the farrago with only one very strong desire—to kick Raffles neck and crop out of the stable. This was the bill:—
| Mr. burn owes me daniel raffles this money. | |
| To bunneys at sixpence each | 2 0 |
| To 50 cartrigges | 6 6 |
| To pidgins | 1 6 |
| 1 gunn breech loder | £7 0 0 |
| totel | £7 10 0 |
"Now, Raffles," said Jack, in a white heat, "what do you mean by this rotten foolery?"
"There's no foolery about it," said Raffles, sulkily. "That's my bill."
"Why, you unspeakable rascal, did you fancy I'd pay it?"