"I might speak—I ain't master of myself, Bob."
"Well, my dear fellow, and why not? Have you forgot what I said—that you were to have the next turn? Speak, by all means, and take her with my blessing, if she'll take you."
"Bob, I won't have it. I have been making a fool of myself when I didn't know what I was saying, and you are behaving like a brick because you are sorry for me."
"Ton my word, it's nothing of the sort. I can say now what I wouldn't say once, that I had rather see her happy with you than unhappy with me. I'm not going to let you outdo me there, you see, though I may be a little bit late."
"Good old Bob!" said Gerrard weakly.
"Not a bit of it. Ain't we chums, old boy? Now remember, pop goes the weasel!"
[1] Mutineers.
[2] New hand.