“Oh! of course, of course, my dear boy.”
“Then you’ll lend it to me?”
“Lend you a hundred? My dear boy, I haven’t a hundred pounds to lend you. And see how happy I am without!”
“Well, then, fifty, uncle. I’ll make that do.”
“Come, I like that, Harry,” cried the old man, fixing Pradelle with his eye. “There’s something frank and generous about it. It’s brave, too; isn’t it, sir?”
“Yes, sir. Harry’s as frank and good-hearted a lad as ever stepped.”
“Thank you, Mr Pradelle. It’s very good of you to say so.”
“Come along, Vic,” said Harry.
“Don’t hurry, my dear boy. So you have an estate in France, have you, Mr Pradelle?”
“Yes, sir.”