“Waxy again. Now look here, Hendon, I’m a rich man. Suppose I say to you, my lad, look out for a snug little practice; I’ll lend you the money—can’t afford to give it—buy the practice, and marry Janet. Isn’t that being a friend?”
Hendon went on pacing the room.
“Sulky, eh? All right: answer me this, then. Shouldn’t I make your sister a better husband than this Mark Heath? Come, be sensible; take me up-stairs to see her. Now, at once. Let me make things pleasant for all of you. What’s the good of being enemies, when we might be friends?”
“Friends!”
“Better than being master and slave, eh, Hendon, my lad? Borrower slave to the lender, eh?”
“Ah!” ejaculated Hendon.
“Come, come, you’re sensible now. Take me up-stairs, and let’s have it out with Rich.”
“With Rich!” cried Hendon passionately.
“There, don’t you be so cocky, young man. I don’t call your Janet, Jenny. Yes, with Rich; my own dear darling Rich. There! How do you like that? Now then, let’s get it over.”
“My sister is not at home.”