As he spoke he looked at Hubert—who had been exercising his predestinate function of marker—rather than at Arthur.
"You're not the only one," Hubert commented morosely.
Arthur, who had been continuing a break that had not been completed when he reached game, straightened his back and faced his cousin. "What is this business?" he asked.
Hubert, who had got into that uneasy-looking pose of his, looked down at his crossed ankles.
"The old man's so infernally difficult," he said.
"So cursedly tight with the money-bags," Turner explained.
"Have you been trying to milk him, then?" Arthur asked.
"Oh, well! the fact is I'm in a hole, on the rocks," Turner admitted. "I've put it off as long as I can, but something has cursedly well got to be done now."
Hubert smiled contemptuously. "Got to be done," he repeated. "Who's going to make him? What it'll end in 'll be your coming to live down here!"