"I have only eighteen pounds," said I, thrusting hand into pocket; "which will leave nine for you—"
"Hey!" he exclaimed, stopping in his sudden fashion. "What's this—what the devil—I say, curse and confound everything, man, what d'ye mean?"
"Being both solitary wanderers, we will share equally so far as we may—"
"No—not to be thought of—preposterous—"
"So I ask you to honour me by accepting these nine pounds—"
"I'll be shot if I do!"
"They may help you to—"
"To my drunken dissolution? Ridiculous! Nine pounds' worth would never do it, I'm so infernally healthy and strong! Nine accursed, miserable pounds—what use to a drinker such as I?"
"Many, Anthony, and I think I can guess one of the first—"
"And that?"