“Go on,” said Pradelle with his eyes, as he glanced at Harry.
“No good. Making fun of us,” said Harry’s return look; and the old man’s eyes glistened.
“Hundred pounds. Speculation, of course?”
“Hardly fair to call it speculation, it is so safe,” said Pradelle, in face of a frown from his friend.
“Hum! A hundred pounds—a hundred pounds,” said Uncle Luke thoughtfully. “It’s a good deal of money.”
“Oh, dear me, no, sir,” said Pradelle. “In business matters a mere trifle.”
“Ah! you see I’m not a business man. Why don’t you lend it to my nephew, Mr Pradelle?”
“I—I’m—well—er—really, I—The fact is, sir, every shilling I have is locked up.”
“Then I should advise you to lose the key, Mr Pradelle,” chuckled the old man, “or you may be tempted to spend it.”
“You’re playing with us, uncle,” cried Harry. “Look here, will you lend me a hundred? I promise you faithfully I’ll pay it to you back.”