edward. With the money you have left. . .
edward follows him politely. mr. booth flings the door open.
mr. booth. Make out a cheque for that at once and send it me.
edward. You could . . .
mr. booth. [clapping his hat on, stamping his stick.] I shall do the right thing, sir, never fear.
So he marches off in fine style, having, he thinks, had the last word and all. But edward closing the door after him, mutters . .
edward. . . Save your soul! . . I'm afraid I was going to say.