MACKESY. He'll go Home after he's married, and send in his papers—see if he doesn't.
BLAYNE. Why shouldn't he? Hasn't he money? Would any one of us be here if we weren't paupers?
DOONE. Poor old pauper! What has became of the six hundred you rooked from our table last month?
BLAYNE. It took unto itself wings. I think an enterprising tradesman got some of it, and a shroff gobbled the rest—or else I spent it.
CURTISS. Gaddy never had dealings with a shroff in his life.
DOONE. Virtuous Gaddy! If I had three thousand a month, paid from England, I don't think I'd deal with a shroff either.
MACKESY. (Yawning.) Oh, it's a sweet life! I wonder whether matrimony would make it sweeter.
CURTISS. Ask Cockley—with his wife dying by inches!
BLAYNE. Go home and get a fool of a girl to come out to—what is it Thackeray says?—'the splendid palace of an Indian pro-consul.'
DOONE. Which reminds me. My quarters leak like a sieve. I had fever last night from sleeping in a swamp. And the worst of it is, one can't do anything to a roof till the Rains are over.