“It ought not to be difficult.”
“We could meet, I thought, and you could show me round a bit. See what I’m driving at?”
“No. What are you driving at?”
“I want to see a bit of life, and you’re the chap to show it me.”
And suddenly Wynne became very angry, so angry that his face went pink and white in turns.
“What the hell do you mean?” he exploded. “Do you take me for a disorderly house tout?”
“Shut up—don’t shout.”
“You dirty, pimply— Good God!”
“If you call me names you won’t get your money.”
“Money!” cried Wynne. “D’you think I’d take money from any one who begat a thing like you. Clear out, get away, and tell your father, when next he thinks he’d like a son, to blow out his brains instead.”