“De’il the fear! It’ll never be said that Jim Langford, alias Captain Mayne Plunkett, alias Aunt Christina, ever put anything your way that would fire you, in your rashness, to disgrace me and make a fool of yourself.”
Jim changed the subject again.
“Phil, why don’t you cut that bluffer, Brenchfield, out?”
“Me? What harm have I done, Jim?”
“That’ll do, laddie. You can’t brazen it out that way. Man, I’d give my wee pinkie to see it happen.”
“Oh, don’t talk rot!” returned Phil, serious as an owl, nevertheless pale at the lips. “What chance has an impecunious day-labourer like me with Miss Pederstone?
“Why don’t you try yourself? You’re mighty good at arranging things for your friends.”
Jim laughed.
Phil turned his head and glared at him; and Jim laughed more uproariously.
“What are you yelling your Tom-fool head off for? I don’t see anything funny about the proposition.”