“Well, what is it?”
“I say, Uncle Joe,” said Freddie, “can you lend me a thousand quid?”
Mr. Keeble uttered a yelp like a pinched Pomeranian.
§ 3
As Mr. Keeble, red-eyed and overwrought, rose slowly from his chair and began to swell in ominous silence, his nephew raised his hand appealingly. It began to occur to the Hon. Freddie that he had perhaps not led up to his request with the maximum of smooth tact.
“Half a jiffy!” he entreated. “I say, don’t go in off the deep end for just a second. I can explain.”
Mr. Keeble’s feelings expressed themselves in a loud snort.
“Explain!”
“Well, I can. Whole trouble was, I started at the wrong end. Shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that. The fact is, Uncle Joe, I’ve got a scheme. I give you my word that, if you’ll only put off having apoplexy for about three minutes,” said Freddie, scanning his fermenting relative with some anxiety, “I can shove you on to a good thing. Honestly I can. And all I say is, if this scheme I’m talking about is worth a thousand quid to you, will you slip it across? I’m game to spill it and leave it to your honesty to cash up if the thing looks good to you.”
“A thousand pounds!”