“Well, I suppose so,” Charles winced, “and all the more need for a few more hundreds; for I don’t see how any one could manage to exist on such a pittance.”
“You’ll have to contrive though, my lad, unless they’ll manage a post obit for you,” said Harry.
“There is some trouble about that, and people are such d——d screws,” said Charles, with a darkening face.
“Al’ays was and ever will be,” said Harry, with a laugh.
“And it’s all very fine talking of a ‘hundred a year,’ but you know and I know that won’t do, and never did,” exclaimed Charles, breaking forth bitterly, and then looking hurriedly over his shoulder.
“Upon my soul, Charlie, I don’t know a curse about it,” answered Harry, good-humouredly; “but if it won’t do, it won’t, that’s certain.”
“Quite certain,” said Charles, and sighed very heavily; and again there was a little silence.
“I wish I was as sharp a fellow as you are, Harry,” said Charles, regretfully.
“Do you really think I’m a sharp chap—do you though? I al’ays took myself for a bit of a muff, except about cattle—I did, upon my soul,” said Harry, with an innocent laugh.
“You are a long way a cleverer fellow than I am, and you are not half so lazy; and tell me what you’d do if you were in my situation?”