“Two!” cried Tom merrily.
“Twopence!” cried his brother, driving his ball off the table with a tremendous clatter. “What for?”
“Meet a couple of bills,” said Tom, picking up the ball. “No! Your play again.”
“No business to accept them.”
“Couldn’t help it, old fellow. Come, let’s have a hundred.”
“Not a stiver.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve had your allowance for the year, and fifty over.”
“Nonsense, old man; I’m hard pushed, and if I don’t meet the bills, they’ll be dishonoured.”
“Well, what of that?” said Squire Luke coolly, as he made a stroke.