“Once for all, Tom,” said her ladyship, “I desire that you cease that nonsensical talk about your cousin. Tryphie will marry when I select a husband for her.”
“Oh, of course!” said Tom; “but look here—two can play at that game.”
“Will you have the goodness to explain what you mean, sir?”
“Yes,” said Tom, taking out and counting his money. “Let me see,—about two pounds ten, I should say. I dare say old Wilters would lend me a fiver, if I asked him.”
“Tom,” cried her ladyship, excitedly, “if you dared to do such a thing I should never survive the disgrace. For my sake don’t ask him—at all events not yet. There, there,” she cried hastily, “there’s a five-pound note. Now, my dear boy, for your mother’s and sister’s sake, do not do anything foolish for twenty-four hours. Only twenty-four hours, I implore you.”
“Thankye,” said Tom, taking the note and crumpling it up, as he stuffed it into his trousers pocket. “All right, then: I’ll wait twenty-four hours.”
“What—what do you want the money for?” said her ladyship, adopting now the tremolo stop to play her son, as the furioso had proved so futile.
“I’m going to buy a revolver,” said Tom, kicking up one leg as if he were dancing a child upon it.
“A revolver, Tom? You are not going to do anything rash—anything foolish?”
“What! Operate on myself? Not such a fool. I’d sweep a crossing to live, not blow my brains out if I were what people call ruined. I’m philosopher enough, mother, to know the value of life. Do you wish to know what I want that revolver for?”