"Twenty-seven pounds two and tenpence!" I groaned, letting the accursed paper drift helplessly to the floor.
"D——d reasonable!" said the Infant.
"You would go it!" Towers added soothingly.
"Reasonable or not," I said, "I've only got six pounds in my pockets."
"You said you brought ten," said Towers.
"Yes! but what of carriage-sails and yacht-drives?" I cried agitatedly.
"You're drunk," said the Infant brutally. "However, I suppose, before going into dividing exes we must get together the gross sum."
It was easier said than done. When every farthing had been scraped together, we were thirteen pounds short on the three bills. We held a long council of war, discussing the possibilities of surreptitious pledging—the unspeakable Jones, playing his blindfold game, had reduced us to pawn—but even these were impracticable.
"Confound you!" cried Merton Towers. "Why didn't you think of the bill before?"
As if I had not better things to think of!