“Curse you, who skinned me?”
“Not I, dear boy. Half a dozen had had a turn at you, and that lovely epi—what-you-may-call-it of yours was hanging upon you in rags. I only stripped the rest off, so as to give you a chance to grow a new one, and I’m helping you to do it as fast as you can. Come, don’t cut up rough. Be civil, and I’ll keep you going in style so that you can marry her all right, and have two children and live happy ever after.”
“Look here,” said Glyddyr, getting up and pacing the room furiously, while his visitor calmly discussed his breakfast, “you have something under all this, so open it out.”
“No, dear boy, only the natural desire to see how you are getting on. You owe me—”
“Curse what I owe you!”
“No, no, don’t do that. Pay it.”
“You know I cannot.”
“Till you’ve made a good marriage; and you cannot live in style and make a good marriage without my help, my dear Glyddyr.”
“You and your cursed fraternity hold plenty of security, so leave me in peace.”
“I will, dear boy; but I want my trifle of money, and you are not getting on as fast as I could wish, so I’ve come to help you.”