For some few minutes after he and Gilly had left Albany, Matthew kept up a flow of alarmingly light-hearted conversation. It did not deceive his cousin, and at the first opportunity he broke in on the chatter, and said: “Are you troubled about anything, Matt?”
The flow ceased abruptly. After a moment, Matthew said: “Troubled? Why should I be?”
“Well, I don’t know, but if you are I think you might tell me.”
“Oh! Now you are back at that Head-of-the-House stuff!” replied Matthew, with an unconvincing laugh.
“I hadn’t thought of that, but now you put me in mind of it I might as well justify my position. Are you under a cloud, Matt?”
“Oh, lord, yes, but that ain’t it! At least, in a way it is, but not as you think. My snyder is one of the faithful, thank God!”
Correctly interpreting this mystic phrase to mean that Mr. Ware’s tailor gave him long credit, the Duke said, “What’s the figure?”
There was a long silence. Mr. Ware broke it. “If you want to know, I need five thousand pounds!”
“Oh!” said the Duke. “I haven’t such a sum on me at the moment, but I daresay I could find it.”
Matthew began to laugh. “Gilly, you fool! As though my uncle would let you!”