Mr. Lott regarded him mildly.
'Mr. Daffy,' he said, 'if you don't mind, I should like to have a word in private with your son. Do you and Mr. Bowles go on to the station, and wait for me; perhaps I shall catch you up before you get there.'
'I have told you already, Mr. Lott,' shouted Charles, 'that I can waste no more time on you. I refuse to talk with you at all.'
'And I, Mr. Charles Daffy,' was the resolute answer, 'refuse to leave this room till I have had a word with you.'
'What do you want to say?' asked Charles brutally.
'Just to let you know an idea of mine,' was the reply, 'an idea that's come to me whilst I've stood here listening.'
The tailor and Mr. Bowles moved towards the door. Charles glanced at them fiercely and insolently, then turned his look again upon the man who remained. The other two passed out; the door closed. Mr. Lott, stick and riding-whip still held horizontally, seemed to be lost in meditation.
'Now,' blurted Charles, 'what is it?'
Mr. Lott regarded him steadily, and spoke with his wonted deliberation.
'You heard what your father said about paying that money back?'