“Business and friendliness combined, my dear sir. Why, you used not to snub me like this. There, I meant to chat over a little money matter with you. Let’s do it pleasantly. Come up to that capital table, and let’s do it over a friendly game of billiards.”
Tom Candlish started from his seat, overturning his glass, which fell to the floor, and was shattered to atoms.
“My dear Sir Thomas! what is the matter?”
“Nothing—nothing,” he replied hoarsely. “Not well yet. A confounded spasm.”
“How unfortunate! Let me refill your glass, or shall I do it upstairs in the billiard-room?”
“Curse the billiards! I tell you I don’t play now.”
“Not play?”
“The sight of the balls rolling makes me giddy,” cried the wretched man, glaring at his visitor.
“Why, my dear sir, I’m very sorry I mentioned the game. There, let me give you a light. You’re out. That’s it. Really you ought to have the advice of a doctor.”
“Damn all doctors!” growled the baronet again.