“To tell you the truth, Captain, on first going up I fell into extravagant company. I thought my friends were rich men, and I was never a niggard. There was Monty, the patron of the Fancy”—the scissors in Kate's hand clicked and stopped—and Ross blurted out, “In fact, I've not been called, and I've never studied at all.”
Ross squirmed in his chair, glancing under his brows at Kate. Pete leaned forward and puffed up the chimney without speaking.
“You see I speak freely, Peter—something compels me. Well, if a man can't reveal his little failings to his own brother, Peter——”
“Don't let's talk about brothers,” said Pete. “What am I to do for you?”
“Lend me enough to help me to do what our father thinks I've done already,” said Ross, and then he added, hastily, “Oh, I'll give you my note of hand for it.”
“They're telling me, sir,” said Pete, “your notes of hand are as cheap as cowries.”
“Some one has belied me to you, Captain. But for our father's sake—he has set his heart on this Deemstership—there may still be time for it.”
“Yes,” said Pete, striking his open hand on the table, “and better men to fill it.”
Ross glanced at Kate, and a smile that was half a sneer crossed his evil face. “How nice,” he said, “when the great friends of the wife are also the great friends of the husband.”
“Just so,” said Pete, and then Ross laughed a little, and the clicking of Kate's scissors stopped again. “As to you, sir,” said Pete, rising, “if it's no disrespect, you're like the cormorant that chokes itself swallowing its fish head-ways up. The gills are sticking in your gizzard, sir, only,” touching Ross's shoulder with something between a pat and push, “you shouldn't be coming to your father's son to help you to ram it down.”