“Well, that was an accident; speculators must have some crust as well as crumb.”
“But I get all crust.”
“No, I seem to be getting all crust now from your people. Your aunt’s right enough, but your father casts his cold shoulder and stale bread at me whenever we meet; and as for a certain lady, she regularly cut me yesterday.”
“Well, I can’t help that, Vic. You know what I said when you told me you were on that. I said that I couldn’t do anything, and that I wouldn’t do anything if I could: but that I wouldn’t stand in your way if you liked to try.”
“Yes, I know what you said,” grumbled Pradelle, as they strolled down to the shore, went round the rocks, and then strolled on over and amongst the shingle and sand, till—a suitable spot presenting itself, about half a mile from the town—they sat down on the soft sand, tilted their hats over their eyes, leaned their backs against a huge stone, and then lit up and began to smoke.
“You see, it’s like this,” said Pradelle; “I know I’m not much of a catch, but I like her, and that ought to make up for a great deal.”
“Yes,” said Harry, whose mind was wandering elsewhere, and he was hesitating as to whether he should take his friend into his counsels or not.
“She don’t know her own mind, that’s about it,” continued Pradelle; “and a word from you might do a deal.”
“Got any money, Vic?”
“Now there’s a mean sort of a question to ask a friend! Have I got any money? As if a man must be made of money before he may look at his old chum’s sister.”